Fifty Shades of Phoebe
by taigasanchez
Summary: Phoebe Grey feels that her life is boring. She's only 24, and she's now the Vice President of Grey Enterprises Holdings. Her personal assistant and right hand girl has gotten married and is moving out of town so she's going to have to find a new one. Her new PA is-distracting. He just might be that something that turns her life upside down. Fifty Shades of Phoebe is my first FF.
1. Just Another Day

Alexandra Burrell is leaving to work at some ridiculous advertising company on the east coast next Friday which inevitably means that I'm going to have to find a new personal assistant—un-fucking believable. I loathe new people, and getting to know new people, and having to adjust to fit new people's ideas and standards and skill-sets. And on top of the fact that yesterday evening I lost the Farefield Letterman Proposal that would have put my name on the map, got rear ended by some drunken bastard on I-97 last night, and was generously dumped by my 3rd boyfriend in the past 6 months this morning over fucking coffee—this was the _last_ thing that I needed to hear.

"Ms. Grey?" A jovial voice calls to me over my desk phone.

"Yes, Mrs. Burrell?" I unintentionally snap at her.

"You're brother is here, ma'am." Her voice is smaller and timid this time. I do a light face palm, shaking my head in the process.

_This day just keeps getting better._

"Send him in." I murmur like the petulant teenager I used to be.

"Hello Ms. Vice President of Grey Enterprises Holdings." Teddy comes bursting through my double-doors before I even have the chance to remove my finger from the call button. "You'll never guess what happened."

"Hi to you too, Teddy-Bear. What happened?" I feign interest as I pretend to go through some random documents on my desk. He stops in front of my desk, cringing at his undesirable nickname. He hates when I call him Teddy-Bear, so all the more reason to.

He shakes his head, straightening his Oxford cuff links. "I've successfully finalized the merger between Park-Hye Industrialization, and Grey Industries." He says with a small hint of pride in his voice.

"Intriguing." I feign interest again, and he glares at me.

"The fuck is your problem?" He scoffs as he sits down at one of the two chairs directly in front of my desk, loosening his tie and stretching out comfortably. I look him up and down which causes him to smile even broader.

"Please, sit." I motion to the chair that he's already sitting in.

"You're in one hell of a bad mood." He analyzes ingeniously, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "What's up?"

"Nothing—"

"If it was nothing you wouldn't be upset over it, correct?" He says in a calm tone. "Now tell me what's going on—now." He commands, his face is serious—and God does he look the absolute spitting image of Dad when he's serious like that. I release a deep breath, and hesitate to speak at first.

"I have to find a new PA, and soon."

"Oh yeah! That Rebecca girl is retiring, right?" He visibly relaxes, leaning back in his chair.

"_Alexandra_ has gotten married to this guy from Maryland—ironic—and she's moving out there to live with him of course." I roll my eyes. I want to say that I'm happy for Alexandra, and somewhere inside of me I probably am, but I will never find a PA as amazingly apt and capable as she. Always on time, never disrespectful, handy, intelligent, eccentric, keeps my business between her and I—you don't find people like her very often. I've been through my share of PA's before she finally graced my presence a year or so after my entering the family business and she's helped me ride the wave through all of the ridiculously dry conferences, business trips, _outside_ events. She's practically my right foot, and until now I haven't actually realized how much I need her to function properly.

"I see, I see." He nods enthusiastically. I narrow my eyes at him.

"Is mom home from Sweden yet?" I ask, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Yep." He says, rising from the chair and beginning to pad out of my much too big for words office. "Oh, and by the way—don't forget to come to the family get together tonight at 7:00, Grandma and Grandpa's place." He points at me, his face serious. "I swear Phebs, if you forget one more family reunion I'm going to lose it." He slides out of the tinted glass door and it shuts behind him. I stick my tongue out knowing full well he can't see it. I don't _forget_ to go—I _choose_ not to go. I see my family every freaking week, sometimes 4-5 times a week. What the hell is the point? I'll do anything humanly possible to not go to one of those.

I look out of my ceiling to floor office windows adjacent to my desk to the dusking Seattle skyIine in what I consider to be deep thought before standing up and straightening out my charcoal pencil skirt and white blouse, sliding out of my office flats and into my crème skyscraper Louboutins. Padding to the door, I crack it open and look to my left where Alexandra's desk lies and see Teddy leaning over, whispering something in her ear. She giggles slightly and leans back, resting her splayed hand on her chest—her mouth a perfect O, and her face purely astonished. Teddy winks at her before rounding the corner and padding down the endless hallway that leads to the elevators. He's most likely on his way back to his floor, which is exactly 3 floors under me—haha. Dad has the top floor, and I'm directly under him.

I pull the door open all the way and stand in front of her desk, crossing my arms and staring intently at her.

"Yes ma'am?" She beams at me, her green eyes glowing.

"Aren't you supposed to be married? I highly doubt that flirting with a 26-year-old billionaire prince will relay the message." I smirk, raising an eyebrow.

She throws her hands up and shakes her head defensively, red hair flying to and fro. "Oh no, no, no!" She squeaks. "He just told me—something." She pauses as the flush begins to burn her face, I ignore her.

"What do I have scheduled for 7:00?" She doesn't even blink.

"Nothing." She tilts her head questioningly.

"Are you sure?" I say through gritted teeth.

"Is this about your family reunion, Ms. Grey?"

"Of course it is!" I say irritably, and she frowns, but wisely doesn't push her disapproval.

"I suppose I could squeeze something in." She says, turning to her laptop and tapping various things in. I bite my lip, nervous that she won't be able to find something legitimately occupying. It feels like forever before she finally tears her gaze from the screen and settles it on me. "There's a party at Pan Pacific around 6:30 promoting a new line of waxing products, you received an invitation about a month ago but I tossed it aside knowing you'd rather die than go." She purses her lips at me, her face laced with sarcasm. Waxing products? You've got to be kidding me.

_I'm not going to that shit. _

"I'll go." The words are out of my mouth before I have time to stop them. Alexandra's jaw nearly drops to the deep mahogany surface of her desk before shaking the sense back into herself and turning to her computer to type more things in.

"All done." She smiles insincerely.

I groan, disgusted with myself before slumping back into my office and leaning against the door after closing it behind me. It takes me a while, but I finally come to a silent conclusion that was obvious from the very beginning.

"I'm so not going to that."

I pull up in front of my grandparent's estate around 6:59 and grip the parking brake tightly, pulling it forcefully so that my car won't roll down the slight hill that the house sits on. I heave a huge sigh before checking my makeup and hair in the mirror, and then climbing out of my Altima. I pull my hair into a neat ponytail with the elastic on my wrist and push the car door closed. This house hasn't changed a bit, really. It's still looks over expensive, and understated. I walk up to the door and before I have a chance to touch the doorbell, the door is swings open and I'm crushed into a bear hug by my grandfather Carrick.

"Pheobe! How are you kiddo?" He pulls me back and examines me at arm length.

"I'm fantastic Grandpa!" I lie. I have 101 emotions running through my mind right now.

"I know you haven't had time for your family, being a big Vice President and all." He says as he pulls me through the door and shuts it behind him. "But everyone will be so glad you could make it I'm sure." I give him a sweet smile, and he pulls me by arm to the kitchen. "Look who's here…"

"Phoebe!" Everyone in the kitchen stops what they're doing to squeal in unison. My aunt Kate, and uncle Elliot look over ecstatic as they both pull me into a bear hug at the same time followed by my mother & father, my uncle Ethan, my aunt Mia, and finally my grandmother.

"Bebe!" I hear a tiny voice call from behind me. I turn around to reveal a small toothless little girl standing in the hallway.

"Cece!" I open my arms, and she immediately runs into them. Cecelia is Ethan and Mia's 5 year old daughter—ridiculously funny and insanely gorgeous.

"I lost another tooth yesterday Bebe!" She points to her two front teeth which are now in perfect harmony at the bottom of her bed pillow probably.

"Woah—again?" Everyone burst into laughter as I lower her down to the floor. I take a quick look around.

"Where's Ava and Benny?" My face twists in confusion. Aunt Kate gestures to the back yard where they apparently are now. I step out onto the veranda and walk down the long pathway to the beach that sits just behind the house. Ava, Benny, and Teddy are all standing in a semi-circle laughing and joking about whatever. I join them.

"And then—" Ava gets out between laughs. "PHOEBE!" She _screams_ my name as she slams me into her tiny build. "You look fantastic! Then again, you always do." I tuck a loose tendril behind my ear and smile sardonically at my Victoria Secret model capable cousin. She has long, strawberry blonde hair and big, beautiful silver-blue eyes. Her perfect body and face structure is what men die for, and women kill for. "What? You do." She pouts.

"You do." Benny concurs with a slight smile before also pulling me into a hug. "How's work going?"

"It's going, I suppose." He raises an eyebrow.

"I heard your assistant is quitting because you're a total bitch." Ava chimes in. I roll my eyes at her obnoxiousness.

"Ava..." Teddy warns.

"Well, Phoebe at times can be a little—demanding." She presses her pointer fingers together and glances at me through her long eyelashes.

"Demanding? Julius Caesar has a picture of you hanging on his wall for inspiration!" Benny scoffs. Ava laughs, and Teddy joins. I glare at Benny, and he coughs nonchalantly, running his hands through his blonde hair.

"It's funny 'cause it's true!" Teddy gets out between breathless snorts. "Everyone thinks I'm like Dad the most, but nope! That's most definitely you!" He continues. "And you're so controlling and passive about everything. Controlling like Dad, passive like Mom."

"Have you quite finished, Teddy-Bear?"

"Stop calling me that, it's not cute anymore."

"It never was." I roll my eyes.

"Dinner's ready!" Grandma calls from the back door.

"Yay! Food! C'mon Bro!" Ava squeals as she takes Benny in her arm and skips inside.

"You really should loosen up Phoebe. No one as wealthy and beautiful as you are should have any reason to be upset about anything." He gives me a peck on the cheek before disappearing into the house. I throw my head back and sigh because he doesn't know the half of it. I'm an actual disaster.

Dinner was fine, just fine. We talked, joked, laughed. I sometimes forget just how enticing my family is to be around. Everyone had a funny story to tell—except me of course. Though my life is just one big joke. Phoebe Grey, daughter of Christian Grey—and literally nothing else. It's one hell of a shadow to live in, and people wonder why I'm so damn dejected. The elevator finally dings and opens to my penthouse in downtown Seattle. I shuffle in and kick my heels off before stalking through my room to the bathroom and sliding my skirt and panties off followed by my blouse and bra, throwing it in the hamper next to the sink. I turn the faucet on the shower to 100% hot and climb in. The water burns but I barely feel it. I lean my head against the front of the shower and stare at the ground.

"Another day." I mumble. "Just another day."

Stepping out of the shower I hear my cell phone ring and I rush to answer it, pulling the towel tightly around my dripping wet body.

"Hello?" No response, and then there's another ring. It's my business phone. I pick it up and answer "Hello?" again.

"Ms. Grey, you have 27 PA applications, they just arrived an hour ago." Alexandra's harmonic voice echoes through the phone. I roll my eyes—hard.

"Thank you Mrs. Burrell." I say insincerely. I hadn't received applications all week since the message of my searching for a new assistant was relayed. I was just figuring that no one was interested but apparently the applications were held off. "We'll take care of it in the morning." I say sharply before hanging up and tossing my phone on the bed.

_Shit._


	2. Hunt

Alexandra and I have been sitting in the conference room for almost 5 hours straight interviewing less-than-worthy candidates for the position of my PA, and I think I'm going to hurl.

"I'm also very neat—" Angela adds to her dry list of skills. She smiles at me and I make no effort to return it. She then becomes intimidated, slowly shriveling under my gaze. It's nothing new actually, I'm quite used to people being utterly scared of me. And between the lady earlier who ran out of the room crying, and the man who almost pissed his pants when I called him on one of his resume lies—I think that I've seen quite enough of these spineless idiots for one day. "And I can also—"

"Thank you." I look down at her resume and politely stuff it back into my folder, Alexandra heaves a sigh.

"I'm sorry?" Angela's face is puzzled as she studies me.

"I've seen enough, that will be all Miss Parker, thank you." I click my pen on the table and stand. She stands and reaches her hand out for mine, I take it without hesitation.

"Thank you so much for seeing me, ma'am." She smiles shyly before gathering her things to leave. Alexandra gives her a small shake as well as she gathers all of my things and follows me out of the room.

"Hello, Miss Grey." Trenton, my receptionist, says from behind his desk with a huge smile. Damn—he creeps me out. I nod politely to him.

"We still have 4 other candidates downstairs, Miss Grey." Alexandra says as she tries to keep up with my heavy pace.

"Send them all home." I hiss, and she stops. I stop and look back at her.

"Miss Grey, you have to pick an assistant soon—I'm leaving in less than a week." She mumbles, and the anger begins to boil inside of me. I'm not particularly angry with Alexandra, it's everyone else that's ticking me off to be honest. I drop my shoulders, throwing my head back in frustration.

"Fine, fine." I breathe. "4 more. If those 4 aren't nearly worthy I'm going to order a PA from a catalog." She laughs, but I'm not joking. "I'm going to go speak with my father, I'll be back down in 10."

"Yes ma'am." She beams, and turns to get on the elevator.

I get on the other elevator and press the up button. It takes all of 10 seconds for it to finally come to a stop. I stalk off the elevator and head straight for the doors of my father's office.

I stop in front of the door and turn to Andrea who is still typing things on her computer. "Is he busy?" I raise a questioning eyebrow. She doesn't look up.

"No Miss Grey, you can go in of course." She gestures to the door behind me. I push them open and completely fall forward hitting the ground with a loud thud. Out of literally no where I hear my father's deep laugh echoing throughout the office followed by a girly laugh that I'm assuming is my mothers.

"Are you okay baby?" I look up to see my father's outstretched hand, and my mother's arm on my back. I squirm out of their grasps and stand up, facing them with my strongest glare. "Careful, you might burn a hole through my wall darling." Dad jokes, and I glare harder.

"What—did you put Crisco on the hinges of those doors?" I grit, dusting myself off with mom's help. "And why the hell did you laugh at me like I'm some kind of circus attraction?"

"Nostalgia, I suppose." Dad says as he scratches his chin in thought before glancing over to mom who is blushing ridiculously hard. My eyebrows pull together in confusion, and I don't push the subject.

"I need a PA." I interject their thoughts. They both look at me like I've grown a second head.

"What the hell have you been doing down there all day If not interviewing for a new one?" Dad stares at me.

"All of the ones that applied are bogus—"

"I highly doubt that every single one has been 'bogus', Phoebe." Mom air quotes bogus. "You're just very picky is all." She smiles sincerely.

"No, I'm pretty sure that they're all bogus." I nod curtly to her. She smiles, rolling her eyes slightly.

"How about you interview those last four downstairs and if none of them appeal to you, I'll give you a hand." Dad smiles.

"How the heck did you know there were 4 left?" I narrow my eyes at him.

"This is my company, Phoebe. I know about everything that happens here." I won't even justify that with a response.

"I'm holding you to that promise." I point at him before backing out of the room.

"Don't fall." Mom scoffs, I ignore her.

Just 4 more bogus PA's and I'm in the clear. Dad always has the hookup, and he'd never give me someone useless.

I squirm in my seat beside Alexandra as the next PA is escorted in by my office bodyguard Dutch. Holy shit—she's short. More than short, she's funsized! I bite my lip—hard, trying not to pick her up and snuggle her like a little puppy. I have a weakness for cute things, I can't lie.

"Hello, I'm Claire O'Donnell." Even her voice is small! I'm going to lose it. I cross my legs and pinch them tightly together.

"Pleasure." I say, stretching my arm across the table to reach hers, but her arms are too short to reach over so I pull back. "Please, sit." I cough.

Claire is sweet, and charming, and very qualified. She doesn't appear to be intimidated by me, which I also like. I think I've actually found a new assistant.

"Thank you, Miss Claire." Alexandra beams at her then looks excitedly over to me. I give her a tight smile, trying to seem professional but on the inside I'm gushing like a school girl.

"Yes, thank you." I concur, and with that she gathers her things and walks out. Right after the door softly shuts, Alexandra bounces up and down in her chair excitedly.

"Her right? Right?" She can't hide her excitement.

I clear my throat and pull out the next resume. "Maybe."

"What?" She pouts.

"We still have three more." Though I'm sure that it's going to be Blaire.

"Right, right—Elizabeth, Blaise, and Patricia."

"Who's next?" I feign interest as I brush some lint off my skirt.

"Blaise Séverin. 23 years old, he was born and raised in Rhode Island to two French parents. He speaks fluent French, English, and Polish—Princeton graduate, top of his class." She says excitedly. I was never a fan of male PA's, but I don't knock anything before trying it.

"Blaise Severin? Really? His parents must have had some demons." I bite my lip to stifle laughter. Alexandra purses her lips at me. "Let's just get this over with why don't we?" I pump my fist into the air unenthusiastically. She claps slightly before pressing the call button on the phone, asking Dutch to escort Mr. Severin in wherever he sees fit. In just a minute there's a knock on the door.

"Oh, he knocks! I like him already." Alexandra squeals, smiling widely, telling him to simply come in. I click my pen against the table and it flies out of my hand and onto the floor.

"Shit." I crouch down under the table to grab it, hearing footsteps along the cold marble floor and finally seeing a pair of very expensive Versace loafers leading up to a pair of very long legs covered in a three piece suit tailored to fit a God, and finally a perfectly chiseled jaw, full lips, and amazingly sculpted nose. Disconcerting, piercing dark blue eyes—nearly black, sit below a thick, full head of light brown curly hair trimmed neatly like a work of art.

"Mr. Severin, it's so nice to meet you." Alexandra's high-pitched voice snaps me out of my reverie. The Sex God looks intently at me, almost as if he's expecting something.

_You're hand Phoebe, your hand!_

I shake my head, standing up to reach for his hand. He takes it firmly in his, smiling a big, pearly white smile, and everything south of my waistline clenches tightly. Fuck he's gorgeous—more than gorgeous.

"Nice to meet you." He says as I settle back into my chair. His voice is smooth, and thick like honey. He sets his briefcase in front of him and opens it slightly, pulling two manila folders out and handing one to each of us. "These are all of my qualifications." Alexandra looks overly impressed as she thumbs through every single paper in the folder.

"Wow." She breathes. "A masters in Economics, two years of Macklemere researching. Oh my—you were drafted by Audrey McMurray himself?" Mr. Severin gives a small smile and shrugs modestly.

"Eh." I shrug and set the folder back down. "This is very impressive and all but it still tells me nothing about you Mr…"

"Severin…" His eyes widen. "It says it right there." He nods to the resume that I'm twiddling in between my fingers.

"Of course, of course." I wave off my passivity, glancing at the resume again. "How do you pronounce your first name?"

"It's like the 'blaze' of a flame?" He explains. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to laugh at the irony of such a ridiculous name on such a ridiculously beautiful creature.

"Where were you previously employed?" Alexandra asks puzzled. "I don't see that in here."

"Farefield Letterman. It should be in there." He scratches the back of his neck nervously.

"That's a publishing agency." I raise an eyebrow.

"There's a telecommunications branch."

"I see." Had no idea.

"Well this is an absolutely spectacular resume, really." Alexandra beams, looking over at me. I glare at him as hard as I possibly can but he doesn't even flinch, nor does he take his eyes off mine. He takes in a sharp breath before finally looking away, but I don't think it's because he's scared. "Why don't you tell us a bit about yourself, Mr. Severin?" He clears his throat.

"I work very hard, and I don't settle for anything less than perfect. I'm very reserved, and I can be quite persuasive as well." He glances back to me, and I don't doubt it for a second honestly. If he asked me to bend over so he could take me from behind on this table right now, I wouldn't hesitate. "I'm good with people, I know everything there is to know about them. I see the evil in the most deceiving faces. I take my time with things because I believe in doing them right, and right is never rushed." He gives a half smile.

"What do you hope to gain from working at Grey House?" Alexandra continues.

"Not particularly gain, but contribute. I really do believe that this is the place I'm meant to be. I mean—I've always admired your work Miss Grey…" He says, gesturing to me.

"I beg your pardon?" My voice cracks. This man knows of my work? Or is he simply trying to kiss my ass?

"The Clearwater dematerialization of 2040—that was all you, right?" He raises his perfectly sculpted eyebrows.

"Yes, that was my project." I straighten my back, basking in the glory of how hard I worked on keeping those 10,000 jobs and ultimately saving millions of dollars in back taxes that didn't even appear in those twits' insufficient data.

"I did a report on it as a final in one of my college classes a few years back. You had some incredible points regarding market fragmentation, and horizontal integration." Fuck, he _is_ smart.

Alexandra nudges my arm and wiggles her eyebrows. I stare impassively at her before looking back in front of me. He really is good looking—and not the understated kind of good looking—the in your face, stand out in a crowd, fuck me now type good looking. This guy is trying to be a PA? I don't believe it—he could be a male model with absolutely _no_ sweat if he wanted to. He's young as hell, too, what's the big hurry with growing up?

_Says you Miss 24-year-old Vice President of a multi-billion dollar enterprise._

There is no way in hell I'm hiring this guy to work for me. He would be much, much too distracting. He's fucking unreal, as in someone like him should not exist. I stare down at my lap, biting my lip in deep though.

"That's excellent Mr. Severin, and where would—"I interrupt Alexandra in mid-sentence.

"I've heard enough." I blurt out before thinking. Alexandra and Mr. Severin look at me as if I've grown a second head, and for one second—I think I may have.

"Miss Grey?" Alexandra's voice is almost one of warning.

"Well thank you for having me—" I interject him as well. Can everyone just let me finish talking before making assumptions?

"You'll start next Monday at 7:30—no later, no earlier. Do I make myself clear Mr. Severin?" I point my pen at him. Alexandra stares at me in disbelief, as does he.

"Yes. Thank you." He remarks coolly, still staring at me confusingly. I gather all of my belongings and pad out of the grand conference room. Alexandra says a few things to him which would involve him resuming his position back in his chair, probably for some briefing, and then follows swiftly behind me.

"He's hot." She murmurs. I stop and turn around to face her once we're out of earshot from everyone on the floor.

"He is!" I cry out miserably, leaning against the wall. She smiles broadly at me.

"Is that why you've hired him?"

"I had no intention of hiring him! The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them! My hormones spoke for me." I don't recognize my own voice, it's whiny, and I hate it. "What do I do now?" I glance over to her, she looks conflicted.

"You're asking me for advice?" She says almost admiringly.

I shrug. "Apparently."

"I think that regardless of your infatuation, he's an excellent, and very intelligent young man. I think that he'll be an amazing assistant!"

"Who the hell is infatuated?" I hiss, and she shrivels a bit.

"So , what are you going to do?" She twirls a lock of the bright red hair around her finger.

"Mope until I'm over myself." I hand all of my things to Alexandra who takes them from me, balancing them on her arm.

"Okay," She giggles. "Well, I need to speak with him—run over some details. Yadda, yadda." She smiles shyly.

"Do what you have to." I shrug before stalking back to my office. I collapse in my chair and peel my heels off, throwing them on the side of the desk and massaging my feet. A light bulb goes off in my head and I quickly pick up my desk phone, punching in a series of numbers. It rings twice, and then picks up.

"Grey." Dad says in a clipped tone. I roll my eyes at his seriousness.

"Never mind about the PA Dad, I'm good." I say as I play with the pens in the cup on my desk.

"I know." He says humorously. Of course he knows—or does he?

"Thanks anyway Dad." I say sincerely.

"Anything for my princess." He smiles through the phone, and I hang up only to press the call button again. Alexandra should be done speaking with Mr. Severin by now.

"Alexandra, coffee." No response, I figure she's on her way to get it now.

About 3 minutes fly by before there's finally a knock on my door. Why the hell is she knocking?

"Come in?" My eyebrows pull together questioningly. The door pushes open and Mr. Severin—not Alexandra stalks into the room, setting a medium sized cup of Starbucks on the edge of my desk, and then turning to walk out.

"What is this?" I don't take my eyes off of him for a second.

He doesn't even think. "White Chocolate Espresso with Chocolate whipped cream." I raise an eyebrow at him before picking up the cup and holding it to my mouth, allowing the steam to flow out to me. It's hot—very hot just the way I like it. I take a sip, my eyes never straying from his. It's the usual coffee—no different, my favorite.

Mr. Severin is standing just a foot away from my desk with his hands stuffed in his pockets, staring impassively at me.

"Alexandra?" I question him.

"Home, she wanted to give me a taste of the job. Just for today."

"Of course." I take another sip. He licks his bottom lip, and I feel goose bumps rise from my toes all the way to the tip of my fingers. "That's all." I wave him away. He says nothing, turning on his heel and walking out the door.

"It's going to be a long ass day." I murmur to myself.


	3. Personal Assistant from Hell

I'm a mess, ok? An actual mess, peeking out my door, staring like a teenager with a crush. He is my personal assistant, and I'm his boss—drooling over him like an idiot. There he is—Blaise Severin—my new Personal Assistant who is sitting at Alexandra's old—or his new desk typing friskily on the computer. His long manicured fingers tap each key—hard—like they've done something wrong and are now being punished. I wish he would punish me, I'm a very bad girl who won't stop staring.

Monday has gone smoothly so far. I was so sure that with Alexandra's departure everything was going to be hectic for a while, but I was wrong. Mr. Severin is extremely capable. He's punctual as hell, arriving at _exactly_ 7:30 this morning. Before I walked into my office he already had my coffee on my desk— hot and tasty. He then took the liberty to sit me down at around 9 to go through my schedule for the week highlighting the small things that I probably would have forgotten like Alexandra used to do—she must have stressed that to him. Though while he was explaining I was only playing half attention because he looks absolutely gorgeous today. His hair a glorious, but professional mess, his lips a deliciously nude shade, and his eyes—my god his eyes—deep, dark, and blue like the night sky itself. I had to steel myself to look away every time he'd glance up at me for confirmation. I'd stared at him for a good 3 seconds with no words before glazing away, nodding my head my head in approval.

I shift my weight from foot to foot in my doorway, drinking in every inch of him. He's wearing a pinstriped dark gray dress shirt under a half vest with black slacks, his blazer slung over his chair. He looks—expensive, I wonder if his parents have money.

He stops typing and clears his throat.

"Did you need something, Miss Grey?" He mumbles under his breath, looking up at me. I flinch under his smoldering gaze. This son of a bitch knew I was staring at him and didn't say anything?

"Yes." I croak, stepping from behind my door and smoothing my dress slacks nonchalantly. "I had a question about your masters in Economics." He turns his chair slightly to face me, giving me his undivided attention. "When exactly did you graduate high school?"

"I never went to high school." He says matter-of-factly.

"Never?"

He shrugs. "Didn't need to." My jaw drops. "I actually can't say never—I went the first week, then my parents requested I be tested out. I went straight to college after." He says simply, and then resumes his typing as I stand dumbfounded just inches away from his desk.

"Do you regret it?" I word vomit. He stops and turns to me bewildered, but then bites his lip and looks down with one eyebrow raised, apparently in deep thought. My stomach flitters at his pondering face, it's the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life.

"Yeah, I do." He breathes, exasperated. "It was never really my choice. I've always done what my parents ask of me."

"Oh."

"Was there something else?" He asks loosely, almost hoping I'll say no.

"No." I say sternly, turning to walk back into my office, but stopping right before my door. "Isn't it your lunch break?" I glance at my watch which now reads 11:33.

"Not hungry." He remarks, still typing. I cross my arms and stare widely at him.

"You need to eat." I cringe at my words.

_I sound just like my god damned father, he would always practically force me to eat when I was younger—even when I wasn't hungry._

He looks at me and his eyebrows slowly pull together in confusion. I stare harder at him with no intention to change my commands. A ghost of a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth and he puts his hands up defensively, standing up and moving from behind his desk. He inches towards me and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He smells absolutely divine—spicy and wicked—I can't explain it. I can practically _taste_ the heat radiating off his body let alone feel it hitting me in small waves. I keep my composure and step back slightly even though he's not that close, my back hitting against the cold glass of my office door.

"So demanding."

"You don't know the half of it." I look down to my clenched fists. My knuckles are turning white from restraint. It's actually taking every fiber of my being to not tackle him to the ground and ride him like a horse in the middle of the floor.

He smiles inwardly, possibly looking for a way to respond to my enigmatic remark.

"Ok then, I'll eat." He says submissively, as if his words were 100% meant to please me.

"Of course you will. Now off with you, shrew." I joke. He pauses, staring at me unbelievingly, and then throws his head back, laughing a full on whole-hearted laugh. A silent whimper escapes from behind my bottom lip—so, so, sexy.

"Shrew?" He scoffs, turning to walk away, still laughing as he stalks down the hallway. "Shrew!" He repeats again, shaking his head.

As soon as he turns the corner I see another figure round the opposite corner almost in unison. I squint to see better, and before I can make out who it is I already know. Tall, copper hair that's been slightly grayed from aging, dressed nicely, and a confused expression on his face.

"Hi Daddy." I smile widely, wrapping my arms around his waist. I haven't seen him since Wednesday when I requested a new PA. He pulls me away and looks me square in the eye, confused expression still aptly present. "What?" I say awkwardly. He points his thumb over his shoulder.

"Who was that?" He studies me cautiously. I gape at him, and a small giggle escapes my mouth but is immediately halted when I see that he's serious.

"Blaise Severin—my new PA." I say to him, bewildered.

"Where's Ms. O'Donnell?" He narrows his eyes.

"Clare O'Donnell? She was outweighed by Blaise." In more ways than one. My thoughts trail off. "Is _that_ who you thought I hired?" I squeak, and he looks as if he's about to explode.

"What kind of name is Blaise?" He says through clenched teeth. I smile, agreeing entirely. "Fire him, now." He says sharply. My face falls and I stare up at him with wide eyes.

"No." I say almost inaudibly, and he stares at me in disbelief.

"It's not a request, Phoebe."

"Dad, I'm not firing anyone under me at your leniency." I step out of his reach.

"Please take it to mind young lady that you are also under me. This is my company, and what I say goes."

"If this company is so 'under your nose' how could you have possibly not known that it was him I hired, and not Claire?" My voice raises several octaves, and his jaw clenches in response.

"Fire him, or I will." He completely ignores my question.

"Why?" I say a bit more innocently this time, biting my lip.

"Because you find him attractive, that's why. I need you here to work, not ogle your employees." He growls at me.

"How would you know what I find attractive?" I spurt out unbelievingly. He says nothing as his glare burns a hole through me. "Meet him." I finally break the silence.

"Excuse me?" His face pulls together quizzically.

"Meet…him…" I stress every syllable, allowing each word to roll off my tongue. Once he meets him, he'll have no choice but to allow him to stay.

"Not a chance." I stomp my foot down on the carpeting.

"How can you be so damned obtuse?" His mouth drops open at my word choice?

"Did you just call me obtuse?" He asks humorously. "You're really something else. I've been called a lot of things, but obtuse?" He begins to laugh. I hold my hand up, warning him to stop.

"Please, dad—just meet the guy." I whine, and he narrows his eyes at me, waiting. "Daddy." I cry out.

"Blaise? _Blaise?_" He grimaces. I nod sternly.

"Blaise." I confirm, and he closes his eyes, breathing in slowly.

"I'll meet him, but I'm not saying that I'll change my mind about him at all."

"Of course." I glance at my watch. "I have a meeting to attend at 3, so can we do it tomorrow—around 3 maybe?" I ask hopefully. He ponders it over in his head before finally giving a tight nod.

"Thank you daddy." I smile, kissing him on the cheek. "Was there something else you needed?" I blink at him.

"It's nothing." He shakes his head.

"Tell me." I demand sternly, and he hesitates for a minute.

"I needed you to go to LA for me, but never mind now." I glare at him.

"What do you mean—'now'?" I stress the word.

"I don't want you going anywhere with him." He hisses.

"Damn it dad—I'm a big girl! I think I can handle myself."

"No."

"You're still meeting him though, right?" I point at him.

"We'll see."

"Tomorrow." I say seriously, not giving my pointer finger a rest. He groans irritably, and turns to walk away.

Dad loved Mr. Severin as I knew he would—they spoke all evening as if they'd know each other for years. He was charming as per usual, and dad was thoroughly impressed with his formal attitude and mature behavior at such a young age. He liked him so much that he actually invited him to have dinner with us at our house next month. I then proceeded to reject the offer for him as I don't wish to see him outside of work and especially not in the home I grew up in.

"Apparently we're going to LA next week." I say shyly, leaning against my office door.

"I know." He remarks sheepishly.

"I knew that you knew. How long is what I'm asking?" I glare at him.

"Monday morning after you asked me about my education, your father sent me an email and told me to attach it to your schedule."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"He also had in the email that he wanted to ask you himself."

"Then why the hell would he already schedule me to do it—never mind. I'm thinking out loud here." I silence myself.

"Why did your father need to meet me?" Mr. Severin asks as he puts the last stack of documents in his outbox and slings his blazer over his broad shoulders.

"He was going to fire you." I say matter-of-factly. He stops and stares wide at me. "Don't worry, you saved your own ass. You sure do have one hell of a personality." I smile broadly at his surprised mug.

"Why—?"

"Don't worry about it, he's not going to anymore." I brush the subject off as I continue to walk down the hall, leaving him dumbfounded at his desk. Not before long I hear his footsteps behind me.

"Was it because he found out you've got a thing for me?" He mumbles from behind me and I stop abruptly, causing him to crash into my back, and I fall forward, but he catches me just before I collapse. I push him away from me harder than I intended.

"Are you insane? I don't have a 'thing' for you!" I practically scream at him. He looks unaffected as he cocks his head to the side and gives me a deliciously crooked smile.

"Oh." He says simply.

"I don't!"

"Okay." 'Okay'? Is that all he has to say? I'm furious and flustered at the same time, I don't know what the hell to do.

I turn and sprint to the elevator, pressing the down button violently. It opens immediately and I hop on, pressing the ground button violently as well.

"Come on!" It finally starts to shut, and just as the last hair of the door edges closed—a hand snaps between them and pushes them apart. "Fuck!" I lean against the wall.

"Yes please." He smirks inwardly, his gaze wandering to the ceiling in thought. "I'd like that very much." He looks back at me, and then turns to face the doors as they slowly close.

The silence is deafening, and there isn't even any crumby elevator music to fill it. He's standing adjacent to me—face forward. He looks absolutely stunning with one hand in his pocket and the other clutching his briefcase, posing like he just jumped out of a Calvin Klein catalog. The only thing I smell is his thick, spicy scent. I don't know if it's his shampoo, or cologne, or whatever, but it's driving me crazy. I look down to my toes sticking out of my red mirrored stiletto wedges, becoming hornier by the second.

_Why can't this damn elevator go faster? I have got to get dad to fix that._

"I want to fuck you too Phoebe," I hear a deep voice call from in front of me. My head snaps up and I stare wide-eyed at the Sex God standing before me. He's still facing forward and his face is unreadable. Maybe I heard wrong? He glances back at me, his face serious and almost pained. "Very, _very_ badly." He finishes, and turns back around, resuming his position as if nothing has happened.

"Then why don't you?" I say softly. He takes in a sharp breath.

"Because if we do it once—" He pauses. "I don't think I'll be able to restrain myself anymore." I suck my lip into my teeth and bite down hard. "You're much too hard to resist as it is, you know." I open my mouth to say something, but my words lose me as the ding of the elevator finally hits. "Goodnight, Miss Grey." He purrs, stepping off the elevator, and padding to the back entrance where the garage is.

"Goodnight." I say almost inaudibly, stepping off of the elevator as well once he's out of view, leaning against the closest wall.

He wants to_ fuck_ me—very, very badly. I think I'm going to pass out, and I can feel the delayed heat rising in my cheeks. I _want_ him to fuck me, more than I can even explain. I've never felt this way about any man. Every single guy I've come across has had less than moderate affects on me in terms of sexual gravitation. He's so damn mercurial, and it throws me the hell off. Just those words, those small little words, and my legs feel weak.

"Are you alright, Miss Grey?" The perky blonde receptionist stands and begins to rush over to me.

"Never better." I say honestly, standing up straight and walking to the garage.

As soon as I click the unlock button on my car I hear a loud thud in the darkness possibly a car door shutting, followed by footsteps. I look around calmly and reach for my phone. Shit—I sent Dutch home for the day. The footsteps get closer and closer and I hurriedly get into my car, shutting the door behind me and locking the doors. Everything is quiet for just a moment and I relax a bit. I push my key into the ignition, and press the engine button as it roars to life. I put the car in reverse and then look behind me to back out. I scream at the top of my lungs when I see Trenton standing behind my car, staring at me through the window, smiling.

_SHIT FUCK BITCH MOTHER SON OF A GOD DAMNED._

I almost have a heart attack. Fuck, he creeps me out! He waves to me from the window and my eyes widen. I hold my free hand up in a notion to wave, and then quickly turn it around, flipping him off. He grins even wider, stepping around my car and hovering right next to me outside my driver door.

"Fuck off." I mouth to him, and before I can even blink—my window is shattered and I'm being pulled through. I scream loudly as a piece of broken glass digs into the flesh on my hip. "Let me go!" I squeal.

"I like you Miss Grey, very much—too much actually." He breathes into my ear. "I have to, I really can't not." He laughs a disgustingly maniacal laugh that sends a nasty shiver down my spine.

"Mercy." I cry out as he begins to ring my neck. "I'll give you a raise." I stifle, knowing that's not why he's doing this.

"It's not money I want." He licks my ear and I scream even louder.

Everything begins to become blurry as I slip into unconsciousness. Right before I give up and release my grasp from his clenching arms, I see a figure practically _slam _their body against Trenton's, sending him flying two parking spaces over. I tilt and mercifully fall out of the car window, but feel warm hands catch me before I hit the ground, setting me down gently against my car. There's a lot of grunting, and thuds and footsteps before it all finally comes to a silence. Someone come and crouches down gracefully in front of me. I make out nothing but the eyes and know immediately who it is.

"Thanks." I pat his knee, attempting to stand up.

"You're in no condition to move right now. I'm calling the cops."

"No!" I say quickly. This is the last thing I need on his hands right now. If my father finds out what this psycho has tried to do God knows what precautions he'll take to all of my employees. People will be fired, and I will be screwed.

"What?" He growls irritated.

"Please—just don't. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you not to." I push myself off the ground and walk over to Trenton's limp body. He's lying there, blood dripping out of his nose and mouth. I look back at Mr. Severin who is looking down at him with the most menacing eyes I've ever seen on a human being.

I crouch down next to Trenton. "You're fired." I say sweetly before standing up and giving him a sharp kick to the ribs. "Ow." I hold my side, wincing at the pain.

"Careful." He puts his hand on the small of my back for support.

"I'm fine. Could you just take me home?" I groan.

"What about him?" He motions to the halfway squirmy, lifeless body in below us.

"Trust me—he'll leave." I assure him, patting his back and stalking back to my car, opening the passenger seat and sliding in. Mr. Severin looks back at me in the 'are you serious' type way and I give him the 'yes I am now get in the damned car' glare.

"Where's your car?" I ask as he pushes the glass out of the passenger seat, and slides in.

"Irrelevant." He says sharply before backing out and speeding down the garage and onto the street.

I twiddle my thumbs in my lap, occasionally glancing at his furious, but beautiful profile.

"You understand why I can't call the cops—right?" I ask innocently.

"Yes, that doesn't mean I agree with the idea." He hisses at me. I nod, agreeing with his logic.

He finally pulls up in front of my penthouse and jumps out of the car, immediately pulling my door open and scooping me out of the seat. I squeal involuntarily, banging my hands against his chest as he reaches for my purse and pushes the door closed with his foot.

"Put me down!" I scream, attracting no attention on the desolate sidewalks.

"Shut the fuck up!" He growls, pushing through the revolving door and making his way through the lobby to the elevator.

"How do you know where I live?" I ask, realizing I never gave him direction on our way here.

"I'm your PA, Phoebe, I know just about everything there is to know about you."

"You've only been my PA for 2 days!" I pout.

"I take my work very seriously." He quotes his interview, rolling his eyes as he steps onto the elevator. I wiggle out of his arms and settle my feet on the floor, snatching my purse out of his hand.

"You can leave now, thank you." I say unconvincingly, and he obliges with a smirk, stepping back and out of the elevator.

"Get some sleep, and treat that." He points to my hip as the doors slowly close, shaking his head and dropping his hand to his side he mumbles. "I've truly got my job cut out for me, don't I?" And with that he's gone.

I lean against the back of the elevator and sigh, staring up at the ceiling. "What the hell just happened?"


	4. Brother Dearest

**I redid the last couple of lines in chapter 3 because I can. So you don't have to go back and read it…what I basically did was make Blaise get off the elevator. So, yeah. Enjoy guys.**

"Ouch!" I squeal out loud as I dap the alcohol drenched cotton ball to my wound. "AHHH!" The tears begin to fall. I turn to look at the wound in my bathroom mirror. It's not deep at all, but it won't stop bleeding. I put a bandage on last night before collapsing into my bed, but it seemed to have not been sated. "Shit, shit, shit." That maniacal son of a bitch Trenton—I knew there was something off about him but I didn't trust my gut like I should have. I finally give up trying to sterilize my wound and seal it over with a fresh new small square bandage, wincing again as I gently pat it into place and settling the hem of my panties over it.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look like death. My grey eyes are extremely dim and rimmed with dark circles. Even after a shower this morning, and practically an hour straight of scrubbing by body of the previous night—I couldn't seem to shake my uneasiness and disgust. I sighed hard and began to pick up my large-barreled rollers one by one, sectioning my ridiculously long, dark copper hair out and rolling them in.

_Note to self: Get a haircut. _

About 15 rollers and half a bottle of foundation later, my makeup looked fresh and my hair tightly rolled and damp. I slumped out of the bathroom and to my bed where I have my clothes for the day laid out—I slide my short, tight, long-sleeved grey shift dress on and snap my black belt around my tiny waist, sliding into in to my favorite black Giuseppe Zanotti's E30229. God I love these shoes—they hold good memories. I grin slightly at the thought. Not hungry for breakfast but keeping my father's feeble warnings in mind, I grab a yogurt cup from the fridge and crack a bar of granola in it.

Of course my thoughts can't help but drift to Mr. Severin—they've been doing so .morning. He's truly an enigma, and he seemed to take Trenton down without even breaking a sweat. Though  
Trenton is a pretty thin guy, he had a really tight grip on my neck last night—and the rest of me as well. I drop my spoon and slide the cup away from me, fighting the bile forming at the back of my throat. Tears begin to swell in my eyes as I realize what could have happened to me had Mr. Severin not been there.

_Suck it up, Phoebe—you're stronger than this._

I'm not—the tears begin to pour down my face and my makeup smears against the back of my hands as I attempt to wipe them away. I sob for a good 20 minutes before finally composing myself, glancing at my watch which read 6:14. I was going to be late for work no doubt. I _abhor_ tardiness, but at this point I couldn't care less. I slumped back to the bathroom and pulled the rollers out of my hair and it fell gloriously down my back, only requiring a few tweaks here and there until perfection. Finally finished with fixing my makeup I grab all of my things and head to the elevator.

"Shit." I stand dumbfounded in front of my car with the window that has been busted in. I shake my head, silently cursing that son of a bitch multiple times before picking my phone up and calling a car. Just before I hit send, someone taps my shoulder and I snap my head around much too quickly to reveal a very well groomed Mr. Severin. Oh god, he _truly_ is much too sexy for words. Hair sprawled elegantly across his head, slightly slicked back for failed composure. His three-piece suits are actually going to be the death of me. Today he's wearing slick grey slacks and a white button-down rolled up to his elbows with a grey vest.

_Oh, fuck me._

I squint my eyes when he smiles a full-toothed blinding smile directly at me. He's a walking paradox—face brighter than the sun with eyes as dark as night.

"Need a ride?" He says slyly, already knowing the answer. I glare harder than intended at him, and then surprise him by abruptly slapping his arm.

"Why did you just leave me last night?" His eyes widen in shock as he takes a half-inch step back. His face slowly pulls together into angry confusion.

"You told me to." He says in a low, menacing voice. "Did you think I actually wanted to leave you alone after that?" He tilts his head, actually wanting to hear my response I guess. I look down and bite my lip, feeling guilty for being so rude to him last night after he practically saved my life. Glancing up at him through my lashes, I see that his face has relaxed a bit.

"You're the most vexing woman I've ever met, you know that?" He takes my hand in his and I blush profusely at his bluntness. He leads me to a sleek black—possibly 2039 Lincoln, opening the passenger door for me. I slide in careful not to lean to far on my left side. He slides in next to me and starts the car, backing out and practically ricocheting down the street.

"You drive—dangerously." I choke as I pull my seatbelt around my body nonchalantly. He chuckles a bit and looks over to me, but quickly returns his eyes to the road.

"I like speed." He says in a low, seductive voice and I immediately know that it holds a variety of suggestive innuendo. I study him closely as we come to a stoplight—if looks could kill. He's grinning a half grin that doesn't seem to be directed at anything while he drums the steering wheel with his thumbs. I idly wonder what song he has playing in his head. He glances at me and my cheeks flush red, not realizing that I was staring, but I don't look away.

"Yes?" He smiles at me.

"Just looking. And you know, thinking about me under you."

"Oh really?" He raises a questioning eyebrow, but he doesn't seem too fazed. Like he's used to hearing such blunt things. "Me too." He says in, if I'm not mistaken, an almost sad tone. I open my mouth to ask him what his problem is, but my fucking phone starts ringing. I roll my eyes as I look at the ID.

"What do you want, Theodore?" I say deadpan into the phone.

"Why is there broken glass and blood in your parking space?" My heart skips a beat—shit. Of course Trenton would get up and leave but the glass didn't have feet, nor in any universe can blood be completely evaporated.

Mr. Severin notices my panic and looks questioningly at me. I cover the mic of the phone with my hand and mouth to him "Glass in my parking space." He shakes his head free of all thoughts and hits a button on his steering wheel, causing the car to start dialing. He pulls a Bluetooth out of the center console and presses it to his ear, and the ringing ceases. I unfold my hand from the mic and try my very best to come up with an excuse.

"I don't know." Is the first thing that comes to my mind. I lightly face palm my sheer stupidity, surely I could have come up with something much more legitimate than that. There's a brief pause at the end of the line before he finally speaks again.

"I'm telling dad." He says swiftly, and hangs up before I can protest.

"TEDDY NO!" I scream into the already ended conversation. "Immature dick." I throw my phone back into my purse and slump into the seat, exhaling deeply. "My career is over." I say exasperated, looking over to Mr. Severin who's been mumbling into his Bluetooth for the past 3 minutes straight. I wait for him to finish, and finally click his steering wheel again. Waiting for him to say something—anything and getting nothing I get agitated and finally ask him.

"Who was that?" I say sarcastically, as if he was waiting for me to ask and he probably wasn't.

"Daphne." He says simply, and my mouth drops open as I stare at him incredulously. Does he actually expect me to know who the hell that is? I won't even humor him with my curiosity.

_Bastard._

We pull in to the GEH garage and Mr. Severin carefully nudges his car into Alexandra's old—or his new parking space. I hop out of the car almost immediately, not wanting him to open my door and stomp over to the door that leads to the lobby. The garage is almost completely empty, only a few cars here and there. At 6 in the morning the only people here are the people who _have_ to be here, which luckily did not include my father. I hear a car alarm clink and his foot steps behind me. I stop abruptly, turning around to meet his impassive gaze. He's just finished buttoning up his blazer, and is now straightening his light blue tie.

"What?" His eyebrows thread together confused, and before I can speak he takes my coat, purse, and documents from my arms and holds them for me.

"You know, it's not enough that I have to deal with my brother's absurdity before the sun even peaks the horizon. I don't need you flipping around from ecstatic, to despondent, to enigmatic, and then to impassive in the blink of an eye! You're the most mind wrenching man I've ever met in my life and you're honestly much too hard to keep up with!" He gapes at me, his face adorably confused.

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand, Miss Grey." His eyes glaze over. "Have I done something wrong?" He asks sincerely. I open my mouth to say yes, but then think about it. _Has_ he done anything wrong? Shit—he hasn't. His mood swings are giving me a migraine, and I overreacted all too dramatically.

I heave a sigh and look into his deep, blue pools.

"No." I say exasperated. "I'm sorry for exploding at you, Mr. Severin. I'm just a bit tense about what's going to happen when my brother reports his findings to my father." He cocks his head to the side, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"What do you mean?" He asks. My eyebrows pull together in confusion.

"What do you mean—what do I mean?" I counter his question with an irritated tone. He steps around me and moves smoothly to where my parking space is about 30 feet over. My mouth drops open as I near the area—it's barren. No glass, no blood, no Trenton. I look over to Mr. Severin who's staring at me, possibly for appraisal. I can't help but smile at his intentness.

"How?" Is all I manage to say.

"Daphne." He says simply, and my angry quickly returns. He notices, quickly adding "She's an old friend—she owes me a few favors." He shrugs, and my anger immediately recedes.

I exhale a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding on to. "Thank you." I say, exasperated. He gives me a crooked grin, shaking his head.

"Kills you not knowing, huh?" He raises his eyebrows at me.

"Yes." I say without hesitation, turning on my heel and heading into the building.

The ride was excruciatingly slow, and I found myself constantly glancing over to Mr. Severin, who was doing that directed-at-nothing half grin again. It was impossibly cute, and I fought the urge to lean over and kiss the small dimple forming slightly in his cheek. The elevator dinged three floors below mine, and the doors opened, revealing a _very_ pissed off Theodore Raymond Grey. As soon as he caught me with his eye he stepped onto the elevator. Furious as ever, his piercing blue-grey eyes burned, and bore into me as I inched away, my back pressing into the corner of the large space.

"What the fuck is going on?" He hisses at me in a low, scary voice that I've only ever heard once. His eyes focused intently on me as I slowly, but surely shriveled under his gaze. The only person with eyes scarier than father without a doubt—is Teddy. "Speak!" His voice has raised several octaves and I actually wince in fear, covering my face with my arms. Teddy is ridiculously sweet but can be a son of a bitch when he's angry enough, and even I—am damn scared of him.

"She forgot her keys." I hear a voice break through my misery from the opposite corner. Teddy and I glance over to see Mr. Severin looking at us like we're a freak show. "Miss Grey forgot her keys, and she appeared to be in a complete hurry to get to her destination yesterday evening after work—so I busted the window open at her consent." He says coolly, not taking his eyes off of Teddy's. Teddy eyes flicker down to me, confused as hell, then back over to Mr. Severin.

"Who the fuck are you?" He asks in a matter-of-factly tone, narrowing his eyes.

"Blaise Severin. I'm Phoebe's new PA—it's nice to finally meet you Mr. Grey." He says ever so charmingly, with a modest smile, reaching his hand out for Teddy. Teddy's eyes widen and his head snaps over to me as he gapes incredulously, taking his hand and shaking it cautiously as if it could detonate at any moment now. He leans in to whisper in my ear.

"Does dad know about this guy?" He tries to mumble, but Mr. Severin obviously hears him as he rolls his eyes. I smile a bit.

"Yes." I fake-mumble back. His face twist into disbelief so I humor him. "If you don't believe me go ask him." I smile, and Teddy shakes his head, obviously getting the hint that I'm not lying.

Teddy glances back over to Mr. Severin who appears unfazed by just about everything on this little green earth.

_Talk about passive. _

"Show me your arm." Teddy commands, and I stiffen. Mr. Severin looks confused. "You said you broke the window open, and there was blood so you must have injured yourself—show me your arm." He commands again, more forceful this time.

"I didn't injure my arm." He raises an eyebrow.

"Then where the hell did the blood come from?" Teddy scoffs. Mr. Severin doesn't hesitate with his response.

"I get chronic nosebleeds. I was helping Miss Grey to her car when my nose started bleeding. It went just about everywhere." He pauses and pulls some documents out of my folder which have dry brownish smears etched all over them, and then shrugs, stuffing them back in. That blood had most definitely come from me while I was absentmindedly clutching them to my side later that night.

Teddy looks at me, and then back at Mr. Severin who shows no emotion, and then back at me who's sweating bricks. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it almost immediately.

"That's a damn good story, and right now I can't argue with it." He points to Mr. Severin. "But I know you're both lying to me. I'll let it go this time, since you're so dedicated to keeping whatever it is under wraps, but next time—I won't hesitate to bring you down." He threatens as he stares hard at me, and then at Mr. Severin who is so _obviously_ trying his very best not to fall on the floor laughing. I nod at Teddy, giving him his little moment.

"I got my eyes on you." He uses his pointer and middle finger to point to his eyes then to mine. I shake my head because now he's just being silly. He turns and presses the 'open-door' button and the doubles push apart to reveal the lobby where Teddy steps off, and then turns to face us.

_Great, now we're going to have to go all the way back up again—not that I'm really complaining._

"Oh and good job cleaning up the glass and blood so damn quickly Phebs, I'm thoroughly impressed—really." He praises me softly, and then turns to walk away. I can't take credit for that ingenious ordeal—it was all him. I glace at Mr. Severin who is silently reveling in pride as he should be.

_I knew I made the right choice._

I blow my bangs out of my face for the 40th time today, slouching over in my desk and desperately wanting to go home. 12 proposals, 7 associate acquisitions, 2 mergers all in one day, and I'm going to lose it. It's been a long, long time since I've actually been damn tired to the point of just wanting to go home. Dad should be taking care of this stuff, but he's at home right now doing God knows what with mom no doubt. Growing up, I'd always hoped that I'd fall in love with someone as much as they did. 25 years, 25 years and not even the slightest budge in their marriage—it's crazy. And so are my bangs!

I hit the call button my desk phone. "Mr. Severin," I wait for his response which was almost immediate.

"Yes, ma'am?" His voice resonates through my speaker in the most delicious way that causes goose bumps to slowly rise on the surface of my skin. I grow irritated a little at the fact that he has this effortless effect on me, wondering if I could make him feel the same way. I clear my throat, regaining my composure as I begin to speak again.

"I need an appointment at my usual hair salon at around 3 tomorrow—also, I would like some coffee—now." I ask more rudely than intended.

"Of course." He says simply.

"Oh, and Mr. Severin, could you please call someone to get my car window fixed and have all the glass removed from my carseat?"

"Already taken care of Miss Grey." I click my pen against the table, waiting a good couple of seconds before pushing the call button again.

"Mr. Severin?" I say sweetly into the phone.

"Yes, Miss Grey?" He answers, and I smirk.

"Why is my coffee still not here? I believe I said 'now'." I know—I'm being a bitch, but it's only fair.

I can almost feel his irritation beginning to radiate through the speaker. About a half-minute later he comes bursting through the door breathless—he obviously ran to the food court and back. He sets a medium-sized Starbucks cup on the edge of my acrylic Bauhaus desk, and turns to leave.

"Mr. Severin?" I have got to give it just one more go. He tenses, hesitantly turning to face me. His face is clearly agitated, but he's doing a hell of a good job at hiding it. "Please do remember to put the holster around my coffee next time." I motion one hand to the holster-less cup and then use the same hand to shoo him out of my office.

He takes in a sharp breath and bites down on his bottom lip—hard, and turns to walk out of my office. I know he's probably irritated as hell right now—but that, that was just fucking sexy, and with that—I regret nothing.


	5. Meet Mr Severin (Kind of)

**Told from Blaise's POV. Enjoy.**

This bitch is trying to kill me, I swear to god. Collapsing into my chair I stare at the tinted glass of her door. "Bitch." I murmur, returning to the computer to finish my work. Surely that fucking woman could have waited five minutes for some damn coffee after giving me a thousand things to do today. She's purposely trying to mess with my head and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't working. Miss Grey has yet to finish managing her damn workflow charts, so I'm left with doing that too, also not my job. Piece of cake—I can finish this in like 10 minutes.

I stare at the finished chart lying on my desk and sigh, rubbing my hand with my face.

_Be a PA, Blaise, it'll be a good start for you and Phoebe Grey will be one hell of a recommendation._

Not worth it—at all. I should've listened to my father. Get a small commute job in Rhode Island—play it safe. Damnit! No one fucking told me that she was probably the sexiest woman on the western seaboard. Of course I'd seen pictures of her, but fuck—they're _nothing_ compared to the real thing.I hadn't even really cared what she looked like. She's brilliant and so young—I was extremely elated to work for her. Now I can't wait to be away from her. She's bossy as hell, a huge bitch, and possibly the first woman who's ever ticked me so far enough to use such vial language to refer to the opposite gender.

She's also crazy as hell. I mean—who the fuck gets assaulted in a dark garage, gets away, and doesn't call the cops? I understand that she didn't want her father finding out, and after meeting her father I can't lie and say that I'd come out and tell him either. But god damn it—she could have at least set out a hit on him or something to ensure he wouldn't bother her again. I thought that my brain had blown a gasket when I heard her scream rip through the garage just as I was starting my car. I ran over to her spot and there she was—halfway in her car window being strangled into suffocation by that creepy son of a bitch Trenton. I knew there was something off about him. And when she told me to get off the elevator after I drove her home I hesitantly obliged, not wanting to give her a harder time that she's already had. Now the next morning after I saved her from being on the back of a milk carton, she's treating me like _I'm_ the one who almost killed her last night. Wicked bitch. A thank you would suffice.

And the little tramp clearly wants me to fuck the living daylights out of her. She's always ogling me in the office. Every single time I walk past her I can almost _feel_ her eyes boring into my ass. She's so vexing. Maybe a good slamming on her desk would straighten her right up. God, how I'd like to taste her in my mouth. Feel the warmth in between her legs while I dig my nails into her beautiful pale skin, rolling her long hair around my wrist as I fuck her from behind. I want to see her unravel underneath me as she calls out my name, big, sexy, smoldering, grey _innocent_ eyes dilated with lust. I want to see her weak for me—weak _period,_ practically begging for me. How can someone so damn innocent looking be so damn fuckable?

_Shit—no._

I can't risk losing the best job opportunity I've ever had over a woman. A very provocative, independent, gorgeous woman. One year, if I work for her for one measly year I can get a job anywhere I want. Phoebe Grey's name holds damn strong just about everywhere. The only problem is if she'll be so kind—and I'm so fucking sure that that word isn't in her god damned vocabulary. God I hate her, more than I've ever hated any woman probably, and yet—I can't get her out of my head.

"Guh. . ." I murmur to myself.

"Indeed." That damned sexy voice. I cringe inwardly, rising my head to her office door which she is now standing in front of, arms across her perfect tits, and perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. "Since you have time to wallow in self-pity Mr. Severin, I'm sure that you've already finished reiterating my workflow charts?"

_Bitch._

I bite back every single vial thing that I want to escape my lips, faking a smile. "Yes, ma'am. Taken care of." I hold up the thick ass folder that I had absolutely no problem finishing. Her eyes widen a fraction in surprise, and I give a more sincere smirk. Yeah, I finished it—all of it. She walks over to me all too confidently and takes me by surprise when she snatches the damn thing from my hand and thumbs through it.

_Fuck._ I seethe in my mind. This disrespectful _bitch_.

"It'll do." She spits out, dropping it back on my desk and turning to walk away. "I'm going to lunch now," She glances at her watch. "I'll be back at around 1—so while I'm gone I'll need you to ligate all of the loose files in that cabinet there before I return." She motions to a dark blue cabinet to the right of me which I've never even seen before, nudged in between 5 other multi-colored cabinets that I've barely ever taken notice of. "It's terribly messy Mr. Severin, and I really despise messy. It has a proposal that I lost a while back—I need to sign and send it soon, or else I could lose a very good deal." She says calmly.

I stare at her in complete disbelief. She seriously expects me to file and ligate an entire four-drawer cabinet in less than—I glance at my watch—an hour and a half? What the actual fuck? I narrow my eyes at her and she then takes that chance to narrow hers back at me before quietly asking that god forsaken question that's one day going to drive me to murder. "Is there a problem, Mr. Severin?" The tiniest smile begins to play on her full, perfect lips, and I know she's doing this shit to piss me off. I won't give her the satisfaction.

"Not at all." I remark wryly. Her ghost smile turns into a full-on, playful grin. Jesus she's breathtaking.

"Get my coat and purse." She commands as she straightens her dress. I turn in my chair, and spring up, quickly pacing to the closet behind me and returning with her things. She shrugs her coat on and ties the belt around her amazingly figured waist, pulling her hair out of the collar. It accentuates every single one of her curves and stops just above the knee, revealing her long, toned legs. I lick my bottom lip and she takes immediate notice as her face slowly loses its composure. "Good luck." She squeaks nervously, and then turns to leave. She would be perfect—_perfect_ if she would just keep her fucking mouth closed, my ideal woman actually.

I turn to face this damn filing cabinet full of things that I've probably never even heard of. Deep breath, composure, don't let her win, don't let her win. She's just a witch with a banging body and nothing more. I roll up my sleeves and loosen my tie, pulling open the first long width drawer. Holy mother—this thing looks like it hasn't been touched in years. I pull out a random folder close to the end, cracking it open.

My mouth drops open as I read on. It's her Clearwater Sole Proprietorship from 2040. I grab the next folder, and the next one, thumbing through every page and drinking in every single word. This entire cabinet must be dedicated to that project. I had only researched what I could find in journals and online, but apparently my thesis didn't even scratch the surface of how hard she'd worked on this, how much she saved. Employee files, data margins, graphs, even her hand written acquisitions are here—150 to be exact, everything. Absolutely brilliant, but messy as hell. I absentmindedly sort through and ligate everything with ease without even realizing it, too busy reading and analyzing her work.

Christ, they weren't kidding back at Farefield when they said that the Grey's work they're asses off. I briefly remember hearing about how Anastasia Grey turned a broke down old publishing agency into one of the top publishing agencies in the United States in as little as 5 short years all by herself. Phoebe Grey, huh? Phoebe…something…Grey—shit, what the hell is her middle name? …Why do I care?

I glance at my watch—12:33. Finished way ahead of time. I stuff the last couple of folders in the bottom drawer and close it shut. _Piece of cake._ What file did she say she needed to look over? Surely it couldn't have been anything from that cabinet. Walking over to my desk and settling into the chair, I start adding in the list of things she's told me to in her schedule. Conference in Brooklyn; next Thursday—note to self: purchase her a plane ticket, Dinner with family; Saturday at 8, Hair appointment Thursday at 3. Etc, etc, etc. I must admit that I feel pretty bad for her—she doesn't seem to have a free second to spare for the next. . . month or two. When the hell does she sleep?

I'm snapped out of my thoughts when the phone starts ringing, answering with my dull, "Miss Grey's office, how may I help you", and sounding like a pussy.

"Er...is Phoebe there?" A male voice asks nervously from the other line. Using her first name, huh? They must be close.

"I'm sorry, but she's stepped out for a moment, may I take a message?"

"No, uh—just could you tell her that Jason Tallis called?" Sure, why not! I scribble his name down on a piece of paper, and bid him a goodbye, slamming the phone on the receiver. What the hell am I angry about?

"Trouble in paradise, Blaise?" Janet calls from the side entrance leading to the main work area.

"Paradise?" I scoff exhaustedly. "I strongly beg to differ." I cup my face in my hands and exhale extremely hard.

"Well if you ever need—release…I'd be glad to assist you." I slowly glance up at her. She's barely an inch from my desk, leaning on her forearms. "Just let me know."

I raise my eyebrows and study her closely. Janet is very much attractive—African American and possibly Caucasian. Shoulder length, wavy black hair and bright hazel eyes. This isn't the first time she's offered to suck my dick under my desk. I've been tempted with her—very, very tempted. She's probably quite the slut though, and I hate sluts. I lean over closer to her and she almost faints, closing her eyes as if I'm supposed to kiss her right now. I roll my eyes and whisper in her ear, "I'll let you know." I say softly. A small whimper escapes from the back of her throat and I swear that she came in her panties right then. She nods slightly, biting her lip, and turns to leave. That un-charming, forced lip biting doesn't even begin to compare to Miss Grey's her subtle, innocent, and downright sexy lip biting. I love watching her soft, pink, delicate lips turn white as she sinks her perfect teeth into them, and then sometimes imagine what they'd look like around me.

_Fuck—and I'm hard again._

break.

"You received a message from a—" I glance at the note attached to my folder just as I'm about to leave her office. "Jason Tallis." I'm pretty sure I pronounced that wrong, but she doesn't take notice. Instead she just looks angrily confused.

"Jason called?" She asks, but the question was most definitely not directed towards me. I figure that I should leave her to her thoughts, so I start to leave. "What did he say?" She asks abruptly. I stop, and stare at her surprised expression.

"He just told me to tell you that he called, ma'am, he didn't leave a message."

"I see." She says, clearly disappointed as she nibbles on her thumb and stares at her desk.

I wait for a minute to see if she's to ask me something else.

"Well, if that's all…" I say discreetly, and she suddenly looks up to me a little shocked, her eyebrows slowly pulling together.

"You're still here?" She scoffs.

_Vapid bitch._

I open the door and luckily manage not to storm out, settling into my seat and the phone speaker clicks. What the fuck could she possibly have to say to me right now?

"Mr. Severin?"

"Yes, Miss Grey?" I answer in a mildly irritated, but attentive tone.

"You did a very good job with organizing my cabinet—thank you." She says, and her voice is actually sincere. I exhale deeply and close my eyes, clutching the bridge of my nose with my fingers. She's just too much.

"Just doing my job, Miss Grey." I say honestly, and turn to finish my work.

break.

"Hello?" I answer my phone exhaustedly without checking the ID as I walk to my car. Today was just shit. My fingers actually hurt—every single limb in my arms hurt from typing so damn much. For a good 10 minutes my fingers wouldn't uncurl from the typing position.

"Hi to you too scrumptious." Daphne squeals into my ear, and I hold the phone as far away from my head as possible.

"What the fuck do you want Daphne?"

"The night with you. . . And the rest of our lives as well." I stare at the phone like it's on fire. Did she just ask me to marry her over the phone?

"Night, yes. Life, no."

"Aw, Blaisey, don't be that way baby." I roll my eyes.

"Do you want to meet tonight or not?" I hiss as I throw my things into the passenger seat, sliding into the drivers. I'm tired as hell, but 5 days straight of morning wood from thinking about _her_, and then 11 straight hours of chronic hard-ons behind my desk every single day for almost a week now and I'm more than willing to go into a coma to relieve this damn obsession.

"Of course! My place, 6?" She says excitedly. I groan as a yes response and hit the end button.

"Traitor." I stare down at my crotch practically burning a hole through my pants trying to escape.

As my breathing finally evens out, I roll off of Daphne and back onto the bed.

"Wow—you're really excited today, huh?" She rolls over and props her head on her hand to look at me, tracing her fingers along the creases in my abs.

"I guess so," I say deadpan, pissed as hell that I'm still rock fucking hard after fucking the shit out of this woman multiple times. I cup my face and exhale deeply.

"I love when you do that." She giggles. I turn to look into her thin brown eyes.

"Do what?"

"Cover your face and breathe out exasperatedly—it's cute. You've always done it, even when we were kids." My eyebrows slowly tweed together. I've known this woman much too long. Our parents are really close friends from way back, and we've known each other since before middle school. Sha apparently has interest for a deeper relationship than just sex, but I've told her constantly that I'm not interested, and she doesn't seem to mind. Perhaps she thinks I'll change my mind. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Brandy—please." I groan, and she quickly gets up, and throws on some clothes before running to the kitchen. I roll my eyes and try to sleep. Phoebe Grey—even her fucking _name_ makes my dick twitch.

Shit, shit, shit.


	6. The Latter

I hate going through my weekly schedule, especially when I'm having cramps. It's like shoving a pine cone up your rectum while listening to full blast Dubstep on Dre Beats.

"And the conference in L.A., too—you can't forget to attend that. There's that guy, Steven Hamilton whom you needed to get in good with for that friendly-eco project you've wanted to start on…" I roll my eyes.

"Right." I groan, paying only half attention. Mr. Severin looks up from his iPad and stares at me, eyes narrowed.

"Are you even listening to me?" No—I'm kind of not. In all honesty…I can't stop thinking about Jason…why did he call me yesterday? Should I call him back? No—that would be sad. He ended our relationship, and _he_ should be the one calling me…right? But he did call me though, right? My brain is one giant clusterfuck… I don't know what to do.

"Well, then…" Mr. Severin snaps me out of my messy thoughts. "We can discuss your schedule later." He rises to leave—oh!

"Mr. Severin!" I squeal and he flinches, staring at me bewildered.

His eyes glaze over. "Yes?"

"You're a man, right?" His face falls and he stares at me deadpan.

"Sort of…" He glances down at his crotch, and I stifle a laugh.

"Tell me—if you break up with a girl, and then call her back two weeks later…what would be your initial reasoning behind it?" A small chuckle escapes his lips.

"How long was I with said girl?"

I contemplate the duration of our relationship. "Less than 2 months?"

He scratches his head, looking up at the ceiling, and then exhales. "Well, we had been together for 2 months… so I've probably left a lot of my things at her house. There are either 2 reasons I'm calling her. 1: I'd probably be asking for my shit back, or 2:—the obvious—I want _her_ back." He says cooly, and my mouth drops open as I stare incredulously at him.

"Seriously?" I croak. He says nothing, just staring at me. "Which one is more likely?"

"It all depends, Miss Grey—on the guy, and you." He raises his folder-filled hand to gesture at me.

"Who ever said that this was about me?"

"Right, right—'some girl'." He air quotes.

"Thanks so much for your advice. Be gone now." I say sarcastically, shooing him away with my hand. He glares hard at me, and then storms out of my office.

"Dick." I pick up my phone and dial Jason's number, which I so stupidly remember by heart. He answers on the 2nd ring.

"Hello?" Ah, that voice. I miss that voice.

"You called?" I say simply.

"Phoebe! Yes, I did." I conjure every ounce of courage I have, inhaling deeply,

"You want the clothes that you left at my house right?" I cross my fingers, praying that he says no. There's silence on the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" He mutters in disbelief. My heart falls into my stomach and I inwardly cuss the fuck out of Mr. Severin for being so damn right.

"Call it a woman's intuition." I say passively, though I feel no such emotion. I'm devastated, and I've missed him so much. I fight back the tears forming in the back of my eyes, breathing slowly. "I'll be home at around 7—you can come pick them up then." I manage to keep my voice steady.

"Thanks—hey sorry for calling you at the office, did you change your cell number?"

"Yeah, I did." The tears start pouring. Why the hell am I crying _now_? I didn't give two fucks about the situation when it happened.

"Oh, ok. I'll be there at 7?" I slowly wipe the tears away, muffling a sob.

"Seven…" I confirm, and the line goes dead.

I drop the phone on my desk—completely missing the receiver and my sobs begin to leak through, becoming full blown cries. I search under my desk for the lock button to my doors, pushing it weakly and then hitting a button on my universal office remote, tinting the windows. The room is dim—not dark, and I wish that I couldn't see a thing right now. I stand and slump over to my little couch, collapsing on it.

I miss Jason—I was so sure that he would be the one. He's sweet, and manly, and perfect. Tall, warm brown eyes, big full smile, the way he'd always just hold me—god I loved him. Why didn't I realize how much I cared for him until we were finally finished? I'm always ducking and dodging these things, always hiding my emotions. But regardless, they eventually come, and when they do they come strong.

"Miss Grey?" Mr. Severin's voice calls through the speaker on my desk phone. I glance at my watch—30 minutes has passed.

_The hell?_

My head feels heavy, and I'm sure that my makeup looks awful. What the heck is my problem? I'm Phoebe Grey—I have an image to uphold. I can't let myself fall to pieces over a man. Rising from the couch, I make haste to my desk phone and hit the call button.

"What?" I say in a deep, groggy tone, and I can already feel the heat from his anger surging through the phone.

"Your brother is here—he tried to come in but your door is locked." Teddy? He is literally the last person I want to speak to right now. If he had a nickel for every time he's coddled me when I was dumped, he'd be richer than daddy.

"Not now." I say simply and cross back around my desk. I pull my compact mirror out of my purse and begin to fix my makeup—luckily I don't look too bad.

"Phoebe, let me in." Teddy commands through the phone. I ignore him, slamming my compact shut and tossing it in my purse as I collect all of my things to leave. I need to go home and sleep, and eat—now.

As soon as I crack my door, I hear the two of them laughing and joking. Thank God my office is soundproof. I glare at Mr. Severin who tenses slightly when he catches sight of me, sliding his tongue across his bottom lip seductively.

_Hypnotic Bastard._

"Phoebe!" Teddy calls out to me, throwing his hands in the air like a grade schooler. "Blaise and I were just talking about the game last night. Why didn't you tell me that your PA was so…how do I put it?"

"Fuckin' A" Mr. Severin remarks matter-of-factly, completing his thoughts. Teddy un-hesitantly obliges as they high five each other simultaneously. I ignore him, not even glancing in his direction.

"I'm taking the rest of the day off. Please be sure to send my condolences to the board downtown." I have a meeting in a few hours but no intention of going to it—they probably wouldn't even notice that I'm not there anyway.

Mr. Severin blinks at me confusedly. "Ok…" He holds the word, waiting for an explanation.

"Get my things." I command, irritated with his damn prying. He stills, and then immediately stands and shuffles in and out of the closet with haste.

"What the hell is going onPhoebe?" Teddy's eyebrows pull together as he studies me carefully.

"Nothing!" I hiss at him, and his eyes widen in shock. I rarely ever yell at him. I sigh, dropping my shoulders. "I'm just—tired is all, long day."

"I see." He looks concerned, but surprisingly doesn't ask why. "I hope you feel better, sis."

"Me too." I murmur. Mr. Severin holds my things and I shrug my coat on. "See you later, Teddy Bear." His face falls and he stares at me impassively. I smile a little—that cheered me up kind of.

The elevator ride down was quiet and peaceful, but the silence was a bit deafening. He didn't even glance at me, and he hasn't seemed to notice that I'm slowly disintegrating. Dropping all of my things in my passenger seat, Mr. Severin closes the door and stalks over to my side, lightly tapping on the window with his index finger. I hesitate rolling it down, and he gets angry, tapping the glass harder this time. I show mercy and finally hit the button.

"What's wrong with you?" He asks immediately. My eyebrows pull together in confusion.

"I already said it—I'm ti—"

"Don't feed me that absurd bullshit, Miss Grey. You're despondency clearly stretches much farther than sleep deprivation." Wow, he's insightful.

"I'll be fine—really. Now if you will, you're fogging up my chrome." I say sarcastically, attempting to roll my window back up, but he threads his hand between the seal and the top of the glass.

"If you need anything…anything—_call me_." He says seriously, looking deep into my eyes. Does he really care that much? I nod slightly, and he steps away to allow me to back out. I shift my car in reverse and back out, turning out of the garage.

_If you need anything call me._

Psh. I'm not going to call him. I hate him, and he hates me—right? He _does_ hate me…he said so. Maybe he was lying. I turn on the radio to block out my ridiculous thoughts.

I think way too much.

* * *

"All by myself! Don't wanna be…ALL BY MYSELF…anymore." I sing into my hairbrush to my mini radio in the bathroom.

"Ouch." I grab my stomach, wincing in pain. Fuck I hate cramps. I should have gotten something to eat before I rushed home as well, and more tampons. I slump into my room and collapse on my bed, glancing at my alarm clock—almost midnight. "Brilliant." I mumble into my pillow.

Sitting up I think of calling Teddy and asking him to buy me a box—but he's probably asleep, and Teddy + No sleep = Dead Phoebe. God I just want to cry—cramps, no sweets, almost out of feminine products. I've been watching TV for three hours straight, and sleeping, and crying over Jason, and more sleeping, and then the rest has mostly just been moping over nothing really. Jason came at exactly 7 o'clock, always the punctual one. He collected all the clothes and other things that he left here, and then left quickly afterwards, not even giving me the slightest glance. It guess that it really is over between him and I. I guess that somewhere deep down inside of me I wanted to believe that there was still a chance for us, but damn—was I wrong. He even told me that our relationship was "fun". Well damn, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself Jason. It took everything that I had to not just start crying right then and there like a ruthless baboon. That's the third boyfriend I've had in the past 6 months. Alex, Steven, and Jason were apparently not the ones I was meant to be with. Alex was a pig, Steven was a whore, and Jason—was perfect, but he didn't want me.

The song changes to 'Waiting on The World to Change' by John Mayer. Woah—haven't heard this song since I was 10. I prop myself up on my elbows and sway my feet front and back to the beat. "Now we see the world and all who lead it…feel like we don't have the means to rise above and beat it so we keep on waiting. Waiting on the world to change." I sigh, shoot—I know I'm waiting—for some damn tampons.

I stare at my phone which is a few inches away from my head, hesitating for a moment.

_Should I? No…I can't _

I cup my face with one hand, and with the other hand I reach for my phone, pressing number 7 on my speed dial. It rings 5 times and then he picks up.

"Yeah?" Mr. Severins groggy voice reverberates through the telephone and my body clenches. I must have woke him up—duh, but my God, he sounds so fucking sexy.

"My apologies Mr. Severin."

"Miss Grey?" He pauses. "It's one in the morning."

"You said that I could call you if I needed anything, and I need you to get me something." I say softly, nibbling on my thumb awaiting his response.

It's quiet for a second, and then I hear car keys in the background, followed by the closing of what I'm guessing is his door. "What do you need, Miss Grey?" He says exhaustedly, yawning away from the speaker.

"Tampons and Midol." I say simply, waiting for him to say no like any normal guy would, but all I hear is the sound of doors closing again, and then the starting of his car.

"Alright, I'll be there in like 20 minutes, ok?" He yawns again, and my heart skips a beat.

"O…k…" I whimper incredulously, and the line goes dead. I push myself off my bed rather ungracefully and stalk to the living room, turning on the television as I collapse on the couch. I glance around the room distractedly…wow. I never realized how large my home is, how big. The ceilings are wood paneled and the floors are a white carpeting that stretches out to the hallway that leads to all of the rooms and bedrooms—5—what do I need 5 bedrooms for? The living room is connected to the kitchen, which is nudged in the corner of the back of the room but also ridiculously big, right behind the kitchen in the next room is the dining room—also too big for me only. I guess that I kind of like big though, it kind of makes things easier in a way. Easier in the sense that it helps me realize how much I have to lose—though I'm sure at this point I couldn't lose much if I wanted to.

* * *

My phone rings and I jump in surprise, glancing at the screen which reads Asshole—Mr. Severin.

I answer without hesitation. "Yes?"

"What floor do you live on and how do I get to it?"

"Penthouse, the pad code is 824v1ga7." I say swiftly before ending the conversation, not even considering that he couldn't possibly remember that.

Oh shoot! I forgot to ask him to get me candy. The elevator dings and I spring up, practically sprinting to it. The doors slowly push apart and my heart drops to my stomach—holy shit. Mr. Severin's in a tight white v-neck shirt with his layered black leather jacket and a pair of pinstriped red and white flannel pajama pants. His hair is literally perfect, a perfect, glorious mess disaster. He looks exhausted, too, like some girl called him at 1'oclock in the morning and asked him to go out and buy tampons. Exhausted, but still damn godly. He studies me with his tired eyes, looking me up, down, and sideways slowly before shoving a grocery bag in my face. I'm sure I look much too casual in my shorty short Victoria's Secret shorts and my Harvard College sweatshirt. My hair is piled on top of my head in a messy bun and I have _no_ makeup on. I take the bag in both hands, my eyes not leaving his.

"Anything else?" He mutters groggily. I shake my head, and he reaches for the elevator pad and hits the close door button. "Night." He whispers.

"Wait!" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. He threads his hands between the doors and stops the from closing, pulling forward to me. He stares questioningly, waiting for me to elaborate. I don't know what to say, I just don't want him to go—I don't want to be alone.

"What?" He says suddenly. I bite my lip and stare at the floor, the words lingering on my tongue.

I breathe. "Stay." I say simply, not knowing If he will or not, and then turn to walk away from the elevator. I pace back to the living room, glancing in the bag—oh! He got me a pan of cupcakes and Hershey's bars. I look back and he's walking behind me, playing with his car keys. I cuddle the bag and smile widely to myself. I stop and compose myself, turning around to meet his gaze.

"Thanks." I mumble, looking down. I hear him exhale and I glance up.

"It's my job, Miss Grey." He says simply. That's right…it is his job to do as I ask, but he's not getting paid to come out in the middle of the night to get me feminine products. He must really be dedicated to kissing my ass.

I sit down on the couch and pull out the cupcakes, ready to devour them. He sits down on the arm of the couch right beside me and studies me as I bite into one, and melt in contentment. I stare at him awkwardly as I chew.

"You want one?" I say with a full mouth. He shakes his head, grinning widely—fuck he's cute. I pull some icing off my cupcake with my index finger and graciously slather it on his nose to distract me. He chuckles and leans in to me so our foreheads are touching, and then shakes his head against me so the icing goes across my face. I laugh and wipe it away with the back of my hand, licking it off. "Sure you don't want one?" I offer again, wiggling the cupcake in his face. He stares for a nanosecond, and then grabs my hand and bites the _entire_ top of the half-eaten cupcake off. My mouth drops open as he watches me and chews slowly.

He swallows and smiles. "Thanks." He says, licking his lips.

You've got to be—is he trying to drive me insane?

"So, what's up?" He slides down the arm of the couch and plants himself right next to me so that our hips are touching.

I set the cupcake—or what's left of the cupcake on my coffee table and stand. He looks dumbfounded as I walk through the hallway into my bedroom. I grab a stack of playing cards out of my sock drawer and pace back into the living room where he's sitting patiently. He looks over to me and raises an eyebrow when I hold up the cards.

"You want to play cards?" He says in an incredulous, but highly amused voice. I nod once, walking over to him. He slaps his hands on his knees. "Sure! Why not." He says half-heartedly as he peels his leather jacket off and drapes it over the arm of the couch. "Speed?"

My eyebrows pull together. What the hell is that?

"You don't know what speed is?" He reads my mind.

"No…" I remark in my humorous, 'isn't-it-obvious' tone, slightly rolling my eyes. He laughs once, biting the corner of his bottom lip.

"Come here," He motions me to come with a tip of the head, and I oblige without hesitation, settling next to him on the couch so that we're facing each other. He takes the cards from my hand and removes them from the box, dealing them out between us on the couch.

"THIS SUCKS!" I cry out, throwing the cards on the ground and crossing my arms across my chest. Speed? More like 'cause-for-HIV'. This is the most infuriating game I've ever played in my life.

"Calm down, calm down—we can play again."

"Not a chance." I hiss in a low tone. We've already played 6 times, and I've already lost 6 times. And between all the talking and joking, and small games of tag around my house in between, I'm quite exhausted. His hands were like lightning, slamming every card down one by one at illegal speeds. "This game just isn't for me." I gather the cards and place them on the coffee table.

"We can go a little slower if you want."

"I'm not going to let you let me win, you dick." I say through clenched teeth, and he rolls his eyes, clearly irritated.

"Do you want to play something else?" So he can kick my ass again? I think not.

"How about we just watch TV?" I groan as I pick up the remote and flicker through the channels.

"Alright, alright." He throws his hands up dismissively, leaning back into the couch.

Wow! 747 channels and not a _damn_ thing to watch. I glance over to Mr. Severin who's not paying the television a half mind. Flipping through the music channel I hear my favorite song. Harlem Shake by Baauer. Mr. Severin's eyes widen and he turns to look at me.

"I fucking hated this song." He groans over the music.

"Oh shut up." I pull him to his feet and start dancing like I'm on fire. He eyes me hungrily, and slowly starts dancing along.

"You're good at this." He grins widely—yes, I'm a fabulous dancer, this I know. "But I'm not sure if you can handle me." I raise one eyebrow—ha!

He pulls me against him by my waist and grinds against me. Whoa, _he_ can dance. He moves so effortlessly, like he knows exactly what he's doing—like he knows my body better than I do. My mother told me that grandma always told her to never trust a man who can dance. I think that I finally understand what she meant now.

He dips me and I squeal and giggle into his shoulder.

"Ok, ok!" I say. He smiles and falls back onto the couch. "Jeez." I nudge his knee with my leg and fall next to him. "Tell me something." I say awkwardly. He looks over at me intently. "Why did you become a PA? Surely you could have done something much more fulfilling because, well—you're kind of a genius, and I'm sure you hate working for me." I roll my eyes.

He looks at me impassively for a second, and then snorts. "I don't know why I chose this career really, and I wouldn't despise you so much if you weren't such a bitch." There's that word again.

"That's like the 60th time you've called me bitch." I mutter, and his eyes widen a fraction. "Yes, bastard I heard you, I always hear you." He shrugs.

"Well…" He says, and I finish his thoughts "if you weren't a bitch, I wouldn't call you a bitch."

"I know that I can be a bit harsh sometimes—"

"You made me carry 7 cases of work files up 20 flights of stairs last week when the elevator was down for maintenance." He says smugly. I needed those damn files though.

"I was a personal assistant once upon a time." I groan.

"Get out of town." He scoffs sarcastically, feigning surprise. "Phoebe Grey? A PA? No way!"

"Yes!" I interrupt his stupid rhyming. "And let me tell you—my boss was a pain in the ass."

"So you constitute his or her actions by also being a pain in the ass?"

"I can't help it!" He rolls his eyes, smiling slightly.

"Alright, Miss Grey." He says simply, and then everything is silent except for the quiet hum of the television.

"When I was 16 years old I had an emotional meltdown." I explain, breaking the silence. Mr. Severin stares at me wide-eyed. "I've always lived in my parent's shadow, playing the role of the perfect daughter. Perfect grades, honor society, sports, volunteering, balls, pageants, signings, conferences, openings—it was all too much, and I cracked." My voice breaks, and I fight back the tears. "I ran away from home, and I was gone for at least 2 months. I caught a boat to Asia, and spent most of my time hiking through Sikkim—you know where that is?" I ask, knowing that he already probably knows. He nods his head yes—shocking. "Sikkim was a great place, warm, lively, free, friendly locals—I've wanted to go back there since I left, but I could never find the time. I enjoyed myself so much, I contemplated never returning. "

"What about your family?" I sigh. Why am I telling him this? I don't get it.

"I was 16, Mr. Severin—I didn't think twice when I did it."

"Normal teenagers run away to another city—not another…continent." He scoffs.

"Well I wasn't a normal teenager, there wasn't a damn thing normal about me. I was tired of the damn attention, and I was growing more and more dejected as the years flew by. But anyway—when I got home, it was pure chaos for a good 2 weeks. My mother was a complete train wreck, my father looked like he hadn't slept since I left, my brother had even left college to come home and look for me…They were so shocked when they saw me; they thought I was a ghost—_I_ thought that I was a ghost."

"How did they respond to your explanation?"

"There was no explanation. I never told them why I did it—they never asked. I think that they just kinda knew, you know?" I bite my lip to fight back more tears. "My father and brother did yell at me of course—that's just how they are, but my mother just held me…she held me for so long that I lost track of time. She told me that I should never have to feel like a prisoner in my own world, that this was—that I was—who I am," The warm tears are now falling slowly and freely down my cheeks. "And I didn't understand what the hell she was talking about."

"And now you do." He finishes my sentence. I glance over to his attentive face and cringe inwardly.

"No. I still don't have the slightest idea." I breathe, exasperated and tired as hell. He leans over and wipes my face with his hands before threading his legs around my body and pulling me into his arms.

"Shh." He whispers, and I slowly start to drift. I can hear his soft, deep voice break through my subconscious just as the darkness begins to take me over. "You damned hypnotic witch."

_Asshole._

* * *

I hear the theme song to Wendell and Vennie softly pulsate in the background and my eyes snap open. I gaze around at my surroundings.

_Fuck—what time is it?_

My head hurts like hell. I groan, sitting up and immediately freeze when I catch sight of what I'm laying on top of. Sex legs, and hair—oh dear my. I'm lying in between Mr. Severins legs, and he's knocked out cold. My guess is from having to wake up at 1 in the morning. I carefully untangle myself from his legs and expertly navigate my hands to the coffee table to grab the remote and press the info button. The clock reads 4:09—work in two hours damn. I glance back at Mr. Severin who stirs slightly, bringing his arm to rest over his face. Nibbling my thumb I contemplate my desired actions before acting, gently laying back down on his broad chest and pressing against him. So warm. I cuddle into him and his arm snakes around my waist.

"Comfy?" He scoffs.

"Yes." I mutter, and then slam my hand into his side because he was awake the whole time—bastard.

"Good to know." He chuckles slightly. "As much as I'd love to have your soft firm tits pressed against my chest for all eternity—I have to get home now.

I groan loudly. "Then go." I say sharply.

"I'm gonna need you to move first."

I hesitate, and then get up. "Fine."

"I mean, I could stay a little longer—that is iffin' your willing to pay for another hour." He jokes.

"I'd rather eat a tub of butter." He chuckles amusingly.

"Saturated or unsaturated?"

"Saturated." I say deadpan, and he laughs.

_I'm so glad that you're entertained, bastard._

I glare at him, which only fuels his laughter. "Why don't you just pump lard into your stomach?" He breathes as he laughs. I grind my teeth together in irritation.

"Fuck you." I seethe, and for fucks sake, he falls on the floor laughing _even harder_. I stand up and give him a swift kick, but he stops my foot.

"You have cute feet." He whispers against my toes. Heat begins to burn in my cheeks as I ungracefully balance myself on one foot while he fondles the other. He pushes my foot slightly and I fall back onto the couch. He stands with my foot still in hand and settles next to me on the couch, taking my other foot and resting it on his lap as well. I open my mouth to tell his to release me but my breath hitches in my throat when he begins to rub my feet.

It feels _amazing_, he really does have some magic fingers there. His thenor digs into the curve of my foot while his thumbs thoroughly circle around the ball. He works from one foot to the other, slowly and tastefully. My eyes roll to the back of my head and I begin to drift—damn this feels good. I can't remember the last time a man has just rubbed my feet. Wait—I don't think a guy has…ever rubbed my feet. Except for my dad, he'd always rub my feet when I was feeling under the weather. But this is nothing like how he used to do it—this is a declaration of passion, not sympathy.

"I've really got to go now." He murmurs. I push my feet into his hands and he chuckles, deepening the massage. I moan slightly, biting my lip to stifle it. He stops and looks up at me bewildered. I look down and cover my mouth.

"Oops." I say simply.

"Could you make that sound for me again?" He says in a low, husky tone.

"No!" I squeak, pulling my feet away from him and putting them under me. He stares, and I continue to look down. There's nothing but silence for what seems like hours. "You were leav—" He suddenly pulls me towards him, and crashes his lips into mine. I moan against him, opening my mouth to allow him full access. He kisses me deeply, possessively—it feels incredible, and he tastes impossibly good. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his body closer until we're fused. He bites my lip hard and then kisses it softly, and oh my, he's a dangerously excellent seducer, biting up and down my shoulder and licking my neck. I moan loudly which only makes him bite even harder. Bringing his lips back to mine, I explore the inside of his mouth, our tongues waging a war. I pull away for a quick breath, staring into his smoldering dark blue eyes that perfectly reflect the sky outside my window.

"Wow," I whimper, and he kisses me again. I dig my fingers into his already messy hair and pull it tightly and an incredible groan escapes from the back of his throat. Moving my hands down his shirt and to his pants he stills, and then pulls away.

"I can't do this." He breathes.

My eyebrows pull together in confusion. "What?" Perhaps I've misheard him.

"We can't do this." My mouth drops open and I stare at him incredulously. Yes we can, all you have to do is whip it out.

"Why the hell not?" He seems to be in deep, deep thought.

"You're on your period." He blurts out, and my face pales.

I narrow my eyes and study him carefully "So?" I say simply.

"You want to fuck—" He thinks. "While you're bleeding out of your vagina?" He looks at me like I'm on fire. Bullshit—I _refuse_ to believe that's why he is refusing to have sex with me.

"Why not?!" I scoff, and he bites his lip to suppress a laughter as he stares at the ceiling.

"I think I should go." He says and I pout, sitting back on the couch and crossing my arms.

"Be gone, then." I say as I shoo him away with one hand.

"No shrew?" He chuckles, and I glare harder.

"Fuck off." I hiss. He throws his hands up defensively, picking his coat off the floor and slugging it on.

"Later." He says, and turns to leave.

"Laters, baby." I whisper involuntarily, hoping to God he didn't hear me.

* * *

Slumping into the office I drop my coat and purse on Mr. Severin's desk. He keeps typing, not even glancing in my direction.

"Good Morning, Miss Grey." He mutters.

"It _was_ a good morning damn it." I hiss, and retreat to my office, knowing for sure I just heard that bastard laugh. My office phone tweets and I answer it rather abruptly.

"WHAT?" I scream, hot and bothered.

"Jesus Christ, Phoebe! What on Earth is wrong with you?!" My mother's sweet voice echoes through the phone.

"Mom? I'm so sorry—I didn't—"

"I want you to come to dinner tomorrow night at 4." She interrupts me, ignoring my outburst.

"Mom, I don't get off until 5." I say deadpan, she knows this, and we're supposed to be having dinner this weekend anyway.

"I'm sure your father will make an exception. Oh! And don't forget to bring your personal assistant as well, your father has told me all kinds of good things about him." She exclaims excitedly. Dad—good things? Ha! I still, no way in fucking hell am I bringing him anywhere near my home. I immediate put up my big guns to protest. "I'm cooking your favorite tonight." And then I'm halted.

"Ceviche?" I say in a low voice.

"Yep! So don't forget! Bye now." She says swiftly and the line goes dead.

Damnit—I'm weak for my mother's Ceviche—it's to die for. Some lady in Venezuela taught her how to make it when we vacationed there a long time ago. She only makes it when she _really_ wants me to do something that she knows I would never do. There's not even a question involved now…I'm going. Only problem is he probably won't go…in fact I'm _indefinitely_ positive he won't go.

"I'd love to go!" He smiles widely at me, facing away from his computer to give me his full attention.

_Fucking asshole._


	7. Grey House

"_The world is just another empty spectrum. We want to believe that we actually matter, but the truth is—we're nothing but a spec on the universe. One upon a hundred trillion other specs, get it?" I didn't get it. I shook my head. "Oh come on Phoebe, don't make me hand to spoon feed it to you. You're a bright girl, you should get it—it's plain English." I understand the external meaning, but I'm sure he means it in a much deeper way._

"_I'm a spec." I say simply._

"_What do you think?" Malil scoots closer to me on the uncomfortable wood bench so that we're hip and hip._

"_It wasn't a question." I interject, staring at the ground. "I __**am**__ a spec." I repeat sullenly._

"_True, true, but look at it this way—so is everyone else." I contemplate his analysis._

"_Then wouldn't that make us all one giant spec?" He tenses and turns his head slowly to look at me as if I'm on fire, then his eyes slowly warm._

"_Wow. I never thought of it like that. That's brilliant." He smiles, and I close my eyes as we wait for the next train. I can feel the Indian breeze blowing through me as if I'm not even an embodiment, just an opaque being with no real purpose. Then again, I don't have any purpose—I'm just a puppet. _

_Just a puppet. _

"_Fuck the world and all who inhabit it." Is how I __used to think__. I can't actually remember a time when I was truly happy past the age of 12. It's been 20 and something years and for crying out loud, I'm still not happy. When will this damned drought come to an end?_

* * *

My mom promised to make Ceviche tonight at dinner which she's preparing now, and I'm amazed that she agreed considering the fact that I forcefully pushed the family dinner back to Saturday when it was initially supposed to be. I'm so nervous about having Mr. Severin in my house. I haven't been this nervous in a long, long time—my heart is literally pounding.

"Are you okay?" Mom asks cautiously, setting down the knife that she was using to cut the bell peppers.

I suck in a deep breath and continue kneading the bread. "Fine. Why do you ask."

"You look like someone just told you that Prada went out of business."

I snort. "Where'd you get that one—the back of a Laffy Taffy wrapper?"

"A cereal box actually." She chuckles. "But seriously, what's the matter honey?" Her face is serious now, full-on mom mode.

I slam my fist into the dough harder than I intended and roll my eyes. "I'm fine Mother, really." I glance over to her for a half second before returning to my task.

She's clearly not convinced—hell, I wouldn't be either. "You've never really talked to me about your feelings, you know that? I feel—depreciated." She mumbles in a sad tone, not breaking her pale blue eyes from my grey ones. I stop pounding my fists onto the marble counter and look away and sigh exasperatedly, ready to jump into unknown territory.

"Have you ever been interested in someone whom you shouldn't be?" I say suddenly, and her eyes widen a fraction with what I'm guessing is surprise.

"Your father." She says simply, and I nod my head, understand immediately. Mom didn't have a penny to her name when she met dad and to the public, that was pretty much a huge insult, especially to those skanky women who though that they were destined to be with him because their daddy's owned other peoples daddy's. Fucking gross.

But their situation doesn't apply to me at all. Mom never worked for dad or vice-versa. Mr. Severin how ever works directly for me, as in right beneath me. If word were to get out that I was fucking my PA there would be a riot.

_But you're not fucking him._

Oh, right…right. But I want to and that's more than enough reason to worry. I've never been so sexually attracted to any man in my life. He's a bastard, though—a damn son of a bitch, and I'm pretty sure that the feeling is more than mutual considering his calling my such vulgar names behind my back—or not so behind my back more like out of my line of hearing or so he figures.

"I just want a normal relationship with a nice guy—is that so much to ask?" I breathe. Mom's head snaps up from the cutting board and she stares at me with complete adoration.

"Are you…" Her voice hitches in her throat. "…asking me for advice?" Her lip quivers slightly and my face pulls together. Is it really that big of a deal that I ask someone for advice? First Alexandra, and now my own mother? What the hell?

"Not really." I raise an eyebrow. "But I'd be more than willing to hear it I guess…" Now that I think about it…I don't think I've ever actually asked my mom for advice, not even as a teenager. She's kind of naïve and timid—I didn't think she'd give sufficient advice so I never confided in her. Don't get me wrong I love my mom, but she's just a bit…frail…like brittle.

Her giant blue eyes brighten with excitement and she puts the knife down gently, rubbing her hands on her apron. She grabs my flour coated hand and pulls me around the counter to the barstools that lie just behind the stove and we both settle in adjacent to each other. Straightening herself out and trying to look composed, she clears her throat and straightens her tiny shoulders and opens her mouth to speak. "I think that love is love, and regardless of whether or not it's wrong for you to love that someone—if it's real, those feelings won't stop." My jaw is slowly lowering itself to the table as I listen to her speak. "In fact…!" She holds her skinny pointer finger in the air as to add to the subject. "If you suppress these feelings darling, they'll only become stronger. If you try to remove yourself from that person, you'll only grow more stressed. Your best bet would be to love, and love until your heart tells you not to anymore." She rests her hands on my shoulders and looks me deeply in the eyes, studying me. "You can't live a lie Phoebe. It's just not right—and it's very uncharacteristic of you. I've never known you to do anything that you don't want." Her voice is soft and calming. "If he is what you want…then make him yours—or her. I won't judge you honey. Don't wait for something that could never happen unless you take the initiative. You of all people should know that." She smiles and strokes my cheek with the back of her hand and kisses my forehead.

My jaw has now descended to the floor and I can't help but just stare into her subtle eyes. I nod my head in response and she smiles once more before standing from the stool and padding back around the enormous island to the cutting board and continues chopping up vegetables as if nothing happened.

What _did_ just happen? Did my mom actually give me legitimate advice? Did she just tell me to actively pursue Mr. Severin if I love him enough? But…I don't love him—I really don't. I just want his dick with all due respect. I want him to lick and suck on my clit and spiral me into uncontrollable orgasms. I want him to throw me over my desk in 30 different ways and pour himself inside of me. Love? What the hell is that? From my experience on this Earth for the past 22 years or so—love isn't real, nor is mercy, nor is remorse. Love? Pfft.

"How are my two favorite girls in the whole world?" Dad saunters in with his red and white plaid polo button down and dark blue jeans. He pads over to me and plants a kiss on my cheek before padding around the island to mom who's still chopping and planting a huge full-on 30 minute long intimate kiss.

"Get a room." I say deadpan, staring at the floor.

"Oh, we've got one—a couple actually." Dad grins a wide crooked at mom who blushes a deep, deep scarlet red that defers her chopping momentarily.

My eyebrows pull together in confusion and I roll my eyes hard at their mysteries.

"What have I told you about rolling those eyes young lady?" Dad raises a questioning eyebrow and I roll my eyes again—just to piss him off and mark my freedom because I could _never _get away with rolling my eyes at him when I lived at home.

"What are you going to do? Ground me?" I grin defiantly and he somehow manages to make a face that scares the actual shit out of me and I quickly shrivel under his dark grey gaze.

"Don't disrespect your father." Mom says sternly, pointing that huge ass knife to me and my head slightly tilts back even though she isn't that close.

"As long as you promise not to butcher me mom." I chuckle. She looks at the knife for a while as if pondering whether or not she should. Dad can't stand it anymore and breaks out into an all out laughter, slapping his palms on the counter and everything. "MOM!" I squeal, unable to suppress my smile. She smiles shrewdly back to me and resumes her cutting. "I'm hungry." I groan, resting my chin on my fist on top of the island and dad's eyes flicker to mine. He's about to say something but mom cuts him off immediately.

"When Mr. Severin gets here at 7 we can start dinner." She says simply, dropping all the vegetables and other things into a small bowl and squeezing a cut lime into it, adding an assortment of other things to follow.

"If—" Dad is immediately sated once again.

"She can eat at dinner which is less than an hour away, Christian." His lips press into a thin line but he doesn't argue with her, then proceeds to roll _his_ eyes. The hell?

Dad is really serious about us eating. Apparently, when he was a kid his birth mom never fed him, or so he tells us. When he told Teddy and I about it we were shocked—it was obviously not something he enjoyed speaking of but he told us everything about his childhood anyway. It was really tense around the house for a little over a month. We tip-toed around his emotions which irritated him. Of course I was 14—I had no idea how to handle the information, so that's what I did. To be honest I felt really shitty when the sympathy passed. He never asked for it. I wouldn't have wanted it either, but then again—I'm kind of heartless in a sense…right?

Teddy's breathing is ragged from laughing so much. I stare at my plate, moving things around on it with my fork and raise my eyebrow slightly.

_Was it really that funny?_

"Seriously?" He gets out between breathless snorts.

"True story." Mr. Severin holds his hands up in a defensive way, grinning slightly.

"Wait—so she actually picked you up and took you to the airport and—"

"Gave me a one-way ticket to Nashville and told me not to come back until I was a country singer." He continues his sentence and Teddy laughs even harder, as does my mom and dad though not as hard as Teddy. I keep my eyes to the table and widen them a fraction every time Teddy gets louder and I suddenly hate the fact that I've chosen to sit directly in front of him.

"That's insane!" Teddy scoffs.

Mr. Severin shrugs and his eyes glaze over slightly. "My mom is quite insane."

"So did it ever happen?" Dad asks matter-of-factly and it takes everything in my being to not burst out laughing right then and there. "Did you ever record anything?" His eyebrows tweed together in confusion.

"Of course not." He says in an isn't-it-deathly-obvious tone with a slight tilt of the head and a subtle grin.

"So why did she let you come home?" Mom scoffs and dad concurs.

"I got into Standford." He says simply, shrugging it off.

"Right, right…that can change a person over time." Teddy says jokingly.

"I was in Nashville for all of 2 weeks before my acceptance letter came in the mail." He chuckles.

"I bet your parents were so proud that you were a super brain at 13." I say sarcastically, stabbing my greens with my fork.

He glances over to me for less than a nanosecond and I see the most piercing burning look in his eyes. "I was 15 when I was admitted." He smiles widely at me, quickly masking his façade ingeniously.

"What college did you go to?" He tilts his head questioningly.

"The place, by the thing." I mumble, and he looks adorably confused, his face completely lost.

"Come again?" He says slowly and carefully, studying my every action.

"Phoebe got her Bachelors at Harvard and went on to get her Masters at NYU." Dad says nonchalantly.

"That's incredible." He murmurs, still looking at me as if I've done something utterly awkward and stupid. I glare at him and he returns his eyes to his plate.

"So Blaise—" Mom calls him Blaise now, as does Teddy. "You were born in France?" She looks across the table to meet his face.

He shakes his head slightly. "No ma'am. I was born in Rhode Island. Both of my parents however were born in France."

"What part?" Dad chimes in curiously.

"A small town called Reims." He says almost questioningly, testing if he would have to elaborate.

"Ah, Reims—" Dad says knowingly. "Reims isn't that small." He scoffs. Mr. Severin shrugs

"Do you speak any French?" Teddy asks.

"I'm fluent."

"_Eh bien, vous ne me dérangerait pas passer moi le sel, bien sûr?_" The words literally fall out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Everyone at the tables eyes fall on Mr. Severin who is gawking at me. He shakes his head clear of all thoughts and scans the large hazel dining table before picking up the salt shaker and placing it next to my plate. His eyebrow flickers in the slightest and he waits for my approval.

"Just checking." I shrug, picking up the salt shaker and sprinkling it over my greens.

"Phoebe learned how to speak French when she was 5, and by the age of 9 she could speak it 100% fluently." Mom squeals with pride.

"That so?"

"So did Ted." I add to get the attention off of me. He glances halfway at Teddy.

"Russian." He shrugs. Teddy hated having to learn Russian, but he never complains when it helps to pick him up hundreds of Russian chicks at bars.

"Yeah?" He snorts. "You don't seem too enthused about that one." Teddy rolls his eyes and shrugs.

For the rest of dinner Mr. Severin and dad speak to each other in French, transitioning from speaking to mom and Teddy in English. Mom, Teddy, and to my surprise even Dad swooned over Mr. Severin—he truly has a gift. They've even invited him to their next father-son football game. Gross.

* * *

Dinner was fine, dull, the only best part was the Ceviche of which I had 3 bowls and happily groaned in happiness afterwards—totally worth the trouble. I managed to not speak unless it was absolutely imperative. After the dishes were washed and everyone retired to the sitting room to banter aimlessly and drink wine, I slipped away to the veranda in the hope that I could get a couple of moments of peace. I creep out the glass sliding door and my heels clack against the wooden boards. The cold metal railing chills my skin as I rest my arms against it, staring off at the seemingly endless acres that stretch behind our home, fields that I would spend hours getting lost in with my family. Fields that hold the greatest memories of my life.

I close my eyes as a soft warm breeze blows through me, inhaling the crisp air deeply.

"S'beautiful, isn't it?"

I tense and my head snaps to the side to reveal Mr. Severin resting against the doorjamb, hands in his pocket. His hair is a perfect disaster, wearing a dark blue polo with faded tight jeans and black tennis shoes looking incredible as ever.

_So much for a moment of peace._

My face pulls together in disgust. "What the hell are you smiling at?" I nod to his crooked grin.

He opens his mouth to speak, but then looks behind him for a second to make sure no one is around. He takes a couple steps forward and stops just inches beside me. "You're sexy, tight little ass." He glances at my backside.

I stare impassively at him for a few moments and then snort in response.

"You're a walking paradox." I shake my head.

He sighs and leans back on the railing next to me. "Tell me about it." He breathes.

"What were you thinking when you took this job anyway?"

"Well, in the interview when you were glaring me down all I could think about was slapping my cock across your pretty little face." He says coolly, and my breath hitches in my throat. I stare at him, bewildered.

"Whoa." I say simply after a while, looking back to the terrain ahead.

"Yep."

"Are you serious?" I look at him again.

"As a heart attack."

"I should be gravely offended by that comment, and by now—" I'm at a loss for words, I'm stuttering at an attempt to maintain my composure. "I would have fired someone who speaks to me and addresses me in such a vulgar manner."

He laughs once. "Good to know." He scoffs, and I slap his shoulder. Damn him for having such an affect on me.

"You're such a dick." I shake my head in exasperation.

"You _make_ me a dick by being such a bitch." He groans in an unbelieving tone, and for a second I actually believe it. I probably _have_ jaded him.

"I see." I say simply, not wanting to add more to that as it could spiral into an all out battle.

He tilts his head back and stares at the evening sky, and I watch the sun begin to set between the high grass.

"Might rain tomorrow." He says matter-of-factly.

Great. Weather talk.

"Are you gay?" Word vomit.

His head slowly cranks its way over to me, and my eyes widen at his expression, which could actually burn a hole through the sun.

"No." He says in a clipped tone.

"Then why didn't you fuck me?!" I throw my arms up exasperatedly.

"Shhhhh—shhhhh." He hisses, crashing one of his palms against my mouth and using the index finger of the other hand to cover his lips, pressing me into the railing. I mumble obscenities under his hand as I shake my head back and forth. "Are you trying to kill me?" He looks behind him and then back to me again.

Breaking from his smothering hold, I attempt to push him away, but his body is like granite stone—I can't even budge him. "Only a gay person wouldn't want to take a ride on this train." I hiss. "All I wanted was one night, _one night_—you selfish son of a bitch. What is it? Your size? Is that it?" Somehow managing to keep my voice low, I slam my fist into stomach. He doesn't even flinch. What the hell is he made of?

"Damn, woman." He scoffs, resting his hands on my forearms and staring at.

I open my mouth to yell at him. "I can't do _one night_…with you. Not with _you._" He stresses the word 'you' so hard that my clit twitches in response.

A questioning eyebrow rises as I stare at the top of his lowered head. "What the hell does that mean?" I say slowly.

He looks up. "Would you like for me to go down on you?" He asks.

My mouth drops open at his brazen choice of words, but I don't hesitate to nod my head in response.

He raises his eyebrows, studying me carefully. "Can you tell me, please?"

"I want you to go down on me."

"Hmm?" He waits.

"I want you to go down on me…please." I add, a smile playing on my mouth.

He grabs my hand tightly and tugs me into the house. I change out positions and take the lead, pulling him through the foyer, carefully avoiding the sitting room and up the stairs to my old bedroom. I push the door closed behind me and lock it. I turn around and stare at him. This is it—the boundary that I never intended to cross the day that I met him—the day I swore that I would remain true to my willpower. But it wasn't strong enough—I can't deny him anything. I want him—no—_need_ him more than I've ever needed anyone or anything. I need to feel what he feels like, I need him to know what I feel like.

"Off." He commands.

"What?" I whisper.

"Everything." He roars through clenched teeth.

I grip the spaghetti straps of my evening dress and slowly slide them off my shoulders, pushing it down my waist allowing it to pool below me. He reaches his hand out and I step out of it, kicking it to the side. He pins me tight against the door and pushes his build into me allowing me to feel his glorious, rock-hard erection pressing against my tummy. He licks my neck starting at the shoulder, trailing all the way to my earlobe where he bites the tip.

"So fucking beautiful." He whispers warmly against my bare flesh.

He slides his fingers into the hem of my panties and forces them down my waist allowing them to drop to the floor before expertly unsnapping my strapless bra and throwing it across the room. Cupping my breasts in his hand he trails kisses down my collarbone, occasionally allowing his wet tongue out. I squeal and almost give way when he closes his lips around my nipple, swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin, leaving kisses along the space in between and then biting the other followed by a soft kiss.

"I'd like to fuck these so badly." He mumbles in a dark voice, kissing up to my neck and rolling my nipples with his thumbs. His hands slowly travel south and he takes me completely by surprise when he slides two fingers into me. I gasp and sink my teeth into his shoulder, trying hard to contain my moans because this room definitely isn't soundproof.

"Oh, baby—you're so, so wet." His fingers pick up speed as they fuck me even harder, licking my neck and squeezing my ass in his palm. My legs give in as my climax thunders over me with an inaudible scream, and I literally collapse into his arms. He exhales a cool, seething, ragged breath.

"God!" I groan breathlessly, and he doesn't spare me a second and a half, quickly lifting me off my feet and throwing me onto the bed with ease. He uses his leg to spread mine apart and crouches down in between, pulling my butt to the very edge and resting my thighs on his shoulders.

He kisses up and down the inside of my right thigh, and then the left. My breathing hasn't yet evened out and my hands are still shaking.

"Wait—wait!" I sit up on my elbows and look down to his features hidden behind me.

He pays me no attention, and then immediately begins to flick his tongue against my swollen clit. I cover my mouth to keep from screeching and my head falls back against the bed as my back arches to give him better access. He sucks and licks me into insanity and I knot my hands through his beautiful dark locks, pulling tightly which makes him groan sending a delicious pulsation through my body—my immediate undoing—I come again. My bottom lip quivers and I whimper at the insatiable pleasure.

He then slides his tongue into my vagina, swishing it to and fro and occasionally sucking it as if it's the air he needs to breathe, rubbing my clit with his thumb. My eyes roll to the back of my head and I grab the bed sheets for support as the hot pleasure pulsates through me yet again. He kisses my left thigh once, and then my belly, the in between of my breasts, my collarbone, and then plants a soft, sweet kiss on my lips.

"Better?" He grins that damn sexy, but cocky crooked grin at me. I don't even have the energy to give a sarcastic response, so I just nod exhaustedly. "Say thank you." He commands. I glare at him, not saying a word, and he snorts and climbs off of me.

"Ungrateful bitch." He mutters, rolling his eyes.

* * *

As we make our way back downstairs, Mr. Severin stops just before then landing step and looks at me as if choosing his words before he speaks.

"Don't tell anyone..." He says, but it's almost a question. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise—like I _would_.

"Don't worry, I won't. Trust me." I scoff, straightening myself up again. I laugh once as I walk down the stairs to pass him, looking back again when I reach the bottom. I shake my head and laugh once again.

I don't turn around, but I know from the deafening silence as I walk through the hall to the sitting room that his face is probably a cataclysm.

I'm scared to think that when I walk back into the sitting room everyone will wonder where we've been, but they're completely oblivious to our presence as we settle down on the couch.

"And then-!" Teddy continues whatever the hell he started. Mom and dad's faces are blue from laughing so hard at whatever the hell it was. "I told him—if you can't liquidate your assets, why invest in the first place!" He scoffs and dads head falls back and an enormous deep laugh escapes from his esophagus. He actually has to remove his arm from behind mom who is beside him, still laughing up a storm to lean forward and catch his breath.

My face falls—seriously? What the fuck are they talking about? I glace over to Mr. Severin who's looking at me as if I killed his mother. My eyes widen.

"What?" I mouth to him. He shakes his head and looks away.

"Phoebe." Teddy snaps me out of my thoughts. "We were just talking about that trip we took to Norway last fall, remember when—" He begins, but I only pay half attention as I focus my gaze on Mr. Severin who pays no mind to me, still looking off into space.

_Did I **do** something?_


	8. Saturday

Ava always has something to talk about—always. Especially when we're having lunch together on a Saturday, it's like a chatty palooza for her. Gossiping and rambling about nonsense for her is like icecream and hershey's bars for a very chubby child.

"I always told him that everything between the two of us would be fine, but he never listened, so I dumped him when he accused me of cheating on him with his brother."

"Did you?" I hold the straw of the smoothie to my face, raising a speculative eyebrow.

Her eyes go wide as she stares incredulously at me. "Of course I did!" She groans, throwing her hands in the air aimlessly. "But that doesn't give him the right to accuse me, god damn it!" I choke on my drink, setting the glass down and lightly coughing to get the cold, melted fluid out of my esophagus.

"Are you mad?" I scoff.

"There's no way in hell that I'm going to be in a relationship with a guy who doesn't trust me."

"You cheated on him." I say simply, narrowing my eyes.

"He's not the first." She rolls her eyes.

I sink my bicuspid into the tip my tongue and simply look at her before shaking my head slightly and looking away. I can't find any intelligible words that would fit fluently in this situation, so I uncharacteristically spout the first thing that comes into my mind. "Whore."

Ava shrugs as if she couldn't give a fuck—and I'm almost certain that she doesn't—and goes back to cutting her salad. "So what's new with your sex life?"

_My Personal Assistant gave me the best head of my life a week ago today and not a damn thing since_.

I give a half grin, attempting to play it cool. "Oh, you know—"

"No, I _don't_ know—please elaborate." She says seriously, her gorgeous blue eyes wide as she speaks.

"Nothing really." I shrug, and she looks back up at me again.

"You liar!" She smiles a full-toothed smile, pointing her fork at me. "Who the hell are you fucking?" She leans closer to me as if it's a secret that no one in this tiny little Italian bistro should know.

I lean into her and cup my mouth, and she turns her head for clearance. "None of your business." I say in my normal voice, and then flick her little ear. She squeals and covers it with her hand, pouting.

"You're such a bitch!" She squeaks, lightly hitting her fist on the table in rebellion.

"Finish eating." I nod to her plate which is almost empty. I finished eating like—10 minutes ago. But she hasn't been able to finish yet because she wouldn't stop talking so damn much.

"Fine." She groans, violently stabbing her lettuce with her fork and practically plowing it into her mouth, chewing sardonically. I nod my head in approval and she rolls her eyes.

When Ava finally finishes her salad we leave the restaurant and pad out to the streets of Seattle for some late afternoon shopping.

"Bloomingdales!" She claps her hands slightly.

"Forever 21." I purse my lips at her.

"Bloomingdales." She says more sternly this time, resting her hands at her side.

"Forever 21." I don't change my tone.

"Have you ever even been to Bloomingdales?" I shake my head. "Great Scott, Phebs—no wonder you're so miserable." I don't even know what kind of clothes Bloomingdales sells. Dresses, maybe?

"We are _so_ going to Bloomingdales." She grins deviously, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the abyss.

* * *

Bloomingdales is an all-women wear clothing store—I actually just thought they primarily sold shoes. Browsing through the different racks I see that they all have this pale contrast to them—like distinct similarities. They have alright clothes, nothing I would swoon over—and I have swooned over clothing before. Everything here is understated and simple—which defines my style to a perfect T. I basically like clothing that doesn't wear me, but it's not like anything really could.

I drift further and further into the store and soon Ava has disappeared behind all of the clothing and mannequins near the clothing. There's a small golden plaque on the wall which reads "Men's Clothing" with a small arrow pointing to the right. So they have a men's section too, huh? Mixing it up are we Bloomingdales? I roll my eyes, turning on my heel to head back to Ava, but I'm halted when my face comes in contact with a thick brick wall of a body. I stare forward at a knit, beige sweater before slowly craning my neck up a good 5 inches to come in contact with a pair of deep, dark, impassive blue eyes.

Goosebumps thunder across the surface of my skin rapidly and a loud ringing sound pierces through my eardrums like a thousand needles at once. I can feel my heart pounding against the back of my ribs as I continue to look him in the eye, neither of us saying a word.

_What the hell is this guy __**doing**__ to me?_

"Mr. Severin." I breathe—barely. He shoves his hands in his front jean pockets and gives me a half smile, his straight pearly teeth gleaming. I take back everything that I've ever said previously about his looks and give just this: He is truly breathtaking—effortlessly—literally the sexiest man that I will ever encounter in this lifetime.

"How's it going, Miss Grey? Enjoying your weekend?" He asks.

"Was." I say simply, and his eyebrows pull together in confusion, but before he can ask me to explain he's interrupted.

"There you are!" Ava groans as she stomps over to me. "What the hell are you doing back here? These are all the clothes that no one would be caught dead wearing." She shrugs dramatically. "And then the men's section." She gestures to the plaque on the wall.

"Well—" I begin, but Ava puts her hand up in a halting motion. I look at her hand, eyebrows raised. When I look at her I see that she's eye-fucking Mr. Severin. She smiles her award-winning smile at him and he gives the most panty-dropping smile I've ever seen on him, slight lip-biting and all. Her eyes widen and snap over to me. She holds a finger up to Mr. Severin in a notion for him to wait, and pushes me rather abruptly to a spot at least 10 or 11 feet away.

"Who's that?" She says sarcastically, holding the 'a' of 'that'.

I look back at Mr. Severin who is paying the two of us no attention as he taps at his cell phone. "That's my new PA." I use the term 'new' loosely because he's been working for me almost 4 weeks now, she just hasn't met him yet, though I've mentioned him to her on several occasions.

"PA?" She says in a disgustingly disbelieving tone, looking back at him. "_That's_ your new PA? Shut…up." I shrug, glancing at the ceiling for a brief moment. "That's not a fucking Personal Assistant, Phoebe. That's a Greek God in a human's body, you know that?" She whispers aggressively. "I bet his dick is huge!" She desperately whimpers a tad louder, and I'm willing to bet he heard that because his mouth twitches up slightly on the side.

I try to and fail to stifle my laugh, and it echoes throughout the entire store. I almost fall on the ground from laughing so hard, but Ava keeps me steady.

"So…is he single?" She whispers more softly this time, holding my balance with one arm.

"I don't know." I scoff, trying to steady my voice. "Does it even matter? You'll go after him regardless." I shrug, straightening myself up.

"Believe it or not, bitch, but I have _some_ dignity." She crosses her arms.

"You have too _much_ dignity. That's exactly what your problem is." I roll my eyes.

"Would you mind if I…?" She again glances back to Mr. Severin who has now been approached by two perky brunettes, possibly twins. The one on the left is constantly twisting a lock of hair between her bony finger while the other bats her eyelashes and giggles like a banshee. My face pulls together in disgust, but is quickly brought to bay when his eyes glaze over from boredom. "Nasty bitches." Ava growls, and I lightly hit her arm.

"Be nice." I warn.

"This is coming from you?!" She scoffs, poking my shoulder. "The girl who treats her own shadow like a lackey?! They're disgusting, and you think so as well…don't lie."

I ignore her, trying to pick up the things that the girls are saying. I only get a couple fragments 'party this Sunday', 'nice arms', 'any tattoos?', 'hell no.' (Mr. Severin). Twisty hair girl reaches out to touch Mr. Severin's biceps and he backs up slightly—which causes me to laugh inwardly. Before I can even blink I see Ava stalk toward him, confident and beautiful as ever.

She ever so Ava-likely stands directly in front of the two brunettes who would be much more appealing if they would use daddy's money to get nose jobs, and begins to speak in a low voice to Mr. Severin—she's on the prowl. The two girls stomp their feet and hiss in disappointment before turning to walk away, knowing that they're no competition for Ava. It doesn't surprise me in the least bit that he takes interest in her, laughing and biting that damn lip, whispering naughty things in her ear.

_Asshole. _

Wait—why did I just call him that? He hasn't done anything wrong. Hell, this perfect son of a bitch has never once caused me any actual form of anti-benevolence, though he does constantly and without fail condone turmoil. I can't keep my cool around him. The entire week I couldn't stop staring at him, observing every single tiny increment of a move he would make. I was extra, extra bitchy towards him, not being able to relay my confusion in a more positive and composed manner. He practically licked me into oblivion not a few days before, and then he completely and utterly pretended as if nothing had happened—and in his eyes I suppose, nothing did happen. What he'd done that evening was simply sate my hunger for him—which it didn't in the least bit because now I want him more than ever. He doesn't want to have a physical relationship with me—he sees me as a transmittable virus, or an artifact in a museum. If he were to touch me, or even get too close, it would fuck him over for life in much, much more ways than one.

I cross my arms and tap my foot, glancing at my Kors watch and waiting for them to finish they're back to back. When they're done speaking, she gives him a kiss of the cheek, and he fucking kisses her back. With a slight nod to me he makes his way through the racks and with that he's gone again—like a freaking hurricane he comes and goes.

Ava's face is the brightest I've seen it seen we were children as she _hops _merrily over to me. "Phoebe." She murmurs in a serious tone, taking my shoulders in her hands. "That guy…is perfect." She emphasizes every syllable. "Where did you _find_ him?"

"Catalog." I say quickly, wanting to move this conversation forward. "What happened?" I ask curiously, rubbing my bottom lip with my index finger.

"Oh yeah! We have a date Monday—dinner." She swoons, her eyes dreamy as she lightly shakes my shoulders.

"Oh…" I pause, thoughts pass and I smile. "That's great Ava." She holds up her hand in a motion to high five me, and I meet her halfway with an unconvincing slap.

"You don't mind right, I mean—he is your assistant and all…I wouldn't want you to think that _I'm_ affecting his work."

_Now_ you fucking ask?

I shake my head, with a small grin that doesn't touch my eyes. "It's fine, really." I nod slightly.

"Yay!" She hops. Wow—I've never seen Ava this excited over _any_ man—ever.

"Yay!" I repeat, unenthusiastically pumping my fists into the air.

* * *

I continue to stare at the ground as Ava and I walk down the street, shopping bags in hand. She talks and talks like only Ava can do but I hear literally nothing she says. I feel my eyebrow slowly crease together as I think harder. What the hell is my deal? Why do I care if Ava and Blaise are seeing each other. It's not like him and I have anything going on, right? I don't believe that going down on me once counts at all as—a thing—_right?_ And plus, he hates me. Like really, really hates me…right?

_I wish he didn't hate me._

WOAH! Where the hell did that come from?! Why do I care if he hates me or not. When have I ever cared what anyone thinks of me period? Phoebe Grey—the same girl who came to school for 2 months straight with an old ripped up polo because I accidentally wore it once and people talked sourly about me. Phoebe Grey who sat next to Harry Schneider in Advanced Metaphysics every single day to prove to the bastards who bullied him that he wasn't some kind of infection. The same Phoebe Grey who, to this very day, has never fallen under the influence of her peers. I will be damned if I allow this man to change the stature that I have worked all of my life to build.

"Oh my GOSH!" Ava stops just in front of my car and turns around to face me. "I completely forgot to tell you what happened with Benny the other day!" She does a light facepalm. I'm quickly focused on what she has to say. "You know that Tasha girl he dated last month?" I nod. "She's pregnant!" She scoffs.

My mouth drops open. "What?" I barely choke out.

"Yep. She's totally pregnant, three weeks at least." She nudges the back of my car with her knee and I hit the pop trunk button on my key. "They're going in to have a blood test tomorrow evening, and I'm so going." She giggles, loading her things into my trunk as I follow suit. "But I already know that it's his. He told me that Tasha was a virgin before he made love to her, and I highly doubt that she would become a whore in such a short amount of time."

I'm completely dumbfounded as I close the trunk and stare at her. Holy shit—Bennett Carrick Grey is going to be a father. I shake my head and pad around to the driver's seat.

"Poor Benny." I mumble. Ava slides into the passenger seat and closes the door right before I hit the engine button.

"It's his own fault, you know? Just one of the many perks of being a whoreflower." Oh my. I bite my lip to stifle a laugh.

"Wanna go get drunk?" I groan, twisting my head over to look at her. She nods enthusiastically, snapping her seatbelt around her waist and hitting the radio. Katy Perry blares through the speakers and I roll my eyes, signaling and pulling away from the curb.

Ava and I head back to my apartment to slip into something more club-worthy and do our hair and makeup, we're back out of the house not an hour later, catching a cab.

The club we usually go to is this little metro huddle called Ace that an old friend of mine gave me free access to. We don't wait in line and are immediately escorted to VIP as soon as we walk through the shiny metal double doors. The exterior of the building is simple and quaint with sparse paneling and a tiny glass sign. It does no justice to the interior, which is bright blue and electric purple neon. The black wood tables and metal chairs perfectly contrast the black shiny tiled floors, slightly scuffed from shoes and chairs being pushed and pulled. The disco ball that hangs from the ceiling rarely ever turns, it simply blinks as fast as a humming birds heart beats, leaving your dance partners and other passerby's nearly impossible to locate.

Ava grabs hold of my hand as we make out way up the stairs to the VIP lounge and we settle into our usual little black leather couch. The bright green haired waiter lady holding a silver tray yells over the music if we'd like anything.

"Strawberry Daiquiri please!" Ava's voice strains over the blaring speaker. Green hair nods and then looks to me intently.

"Patron. Platinum." I say simply. She nods again and then turns to disappear down the stairs.

"So!" Ava turns to me, leaning into my ear. And so it begins. "I totally heard that you had Blaise over your house last week." She smirks. How could she have possibly heard that? I grimace silently…Teddy.

I lean back into her. "My mom and dad invited him to have dinner with us. Wasn't my choice. Why are you asking now if you already knew?"

"I didn't know that he was a total hunk-sickle, okay? I mean really, Phebs—I don't get how you do it. Work every single day with some as—" She dramatically flails her hands two and fro looking for words. "Terrestrially unflawed as he, and not initiate anything. You ma'am, are my hero." She gives me a half grin, raising her eyebrow. I stare impassively at her before shaking my head. Weird word choice.

"Yeah, I'm pretty strong willed I suppose." Or at least I thought that I was—'til I met him.

"No shit!" She scoffs. "Then again, you've always been that way."

"And I'd always hoped to stay that way." I unintentionally mumble under my breath.

"What was that?" She screeches over the music. I shake my head, not looking at her.

Green hair appears into view again and sets our drinks down on the little glass table in front of us. Ava thanks her, I give a tight smile.

About 5 shots of Patron later I'm on the dance floor with Ava dancing like my life depends on it. The floor is _packed_—there must be at least a hundred people on this averaged-sized space. Several men touch and attempt to grind against me but I jab my elbow into their chest as hard as humanly possible if they hold no appeal to me. I can't simply ask them to go away anymore—they don't listen. Ava is dancing with this sexy dirty blonde guy with eyes of fire. I smile to her and she smiles back, grinding into him.

I feel a slight piercing in my bladder and I'm immediately halted. I lean over and whisper into Ava's ears as she continues to dance with blondie. She stops for just a second to listen to me before nodding, and continuing her fun time. I weave through the sea of what is now probably two hundred people at this point and head to the bathroom in the back. I slump into one of the stalls and slam the door shut, leaning against the cold marble. I am so—wasted. I groan from the forming headache.

I make my way back up the stairs and to our little spot and collapse on the couch. I pull my clutch from underneath the cushion and fish my phone out, scrolling through my messages. Dad, Teddy, mom, Lisa, dad, Alexandra (we text sometimes), Gretchen, mom, Aaron, uncle Ethan about babysitting Cece next weekend.

My heart drops into my stomach when Mr. Severin's name—Asshole appears in my message list. I hesitate for literally a nanosecond, and then open the message.

_You're not going to fire me for banging your cousin, are you?_

I feel my jaw hit the floor as I stare at my phone incredulously. Wow, he's blunt! I quickly reply to him.

_No, but if you hurt her in any way, shape, or form I won't hesitate._ I hit the send button.

Not 10 seconds later I receive a reply.

_How noble of you to stick up for your cousin. Maybe you do have a heart after all._

I roll my eyes after reading the text and reply.

_Fuck you. You're not even worth my time._

He replies immediately.

_You're an awful human being. Just putting that out there. _

What the hell? Me?

_You're kidding, right?_

His reply is instantaneous.

_No._

I stick my tongue out at the phone screen and throw it back into my clutch, but just as I'm about to zip it up my phone tweets again. I roll my eyes and pick it up, opening the text.

_You really, really are an awful human being…so, I just don't get it…_

The text stops there…get what?

_What do you not get?_

I wait for several minutes and get nothing—and still nothing. I groan and throw my phone back into my clutch, zipping it up. What the hell does he not understand? He's so infuriating!

* * *

I'm ridiculously tired and hangover worthy when I arrive back at my apartment throwing my belongings onto the floor and collapsing on my bed. I breathe in the cold scent of my pillow, too sore to even move. I believe Ava took that dirty blonde guy back to her condo to do god knows what with him. I, however, have better things to do, like wonder what the hell Mr. Severin's text meant. _I just don't get it… _GET WHAT? I'm overly curious about the issue.

Rising from the bed I consider calling him, but I really shouldn't—no—if I did I would be losing to myself completely. I can't call him. I glance at my alarm clock, reading 11:26. There's a good chance that he's probably asleep, like a 50/50 chance. On top of that I'm sure that he wouldn't want to speak with me anyway, and he's got better things to do on a Saturday night, and I'm sure that my presence means less than a bag of nickels to him. So I bury my head back into my pillow and try the very best that I can to drift.


	9. Sunday

Told from Blaise's POV. Enjoy.

(It's very short.)

My watches alarms peeps and I switch it off—6am. I barely slept at all considering my minds constant wavering to the conundrum that is _she_. I'm an overly-focused person, and I've been regarded as annoyingly perceptive. Now, with the exception of the pulsing hard-on that is tenting my sheets below me, I feel that I have no real grasp on anything anymore. This woman has done unspeakable things to my intelligence. For once in my entire life—I feel _fucking_ stupid. I never thought that I would ever link my name and the word stupid together, but stranger things have happened.

Sliding out of bed and hopping into the shower to take care of myself in more ways than one, I run over the events of yesterday over and over:

Woke up, showered, ate breakfast, went to visit my grandmother, met with Roger and Clause for lunch at Hooters, went to pay some bills, went to buy some new clothes—ran into Miss Grey at Bloomingdales. _Fuck._ Why did I even go to Bloomingdales? I barely buy my clothes there anymore. She looked absolutely stunning in her light pink and yellow sundress that barely touched her knees. Her hair was curly and long and it fell perfectly around her beautiful face. She held my gaze tight with her piercing solid grey eyes before finally breathing my name. My cock twitched in response, and it took everything in my power to not slam her into the wall and fuck her in the back of the store. Her presence was accompanied by a very attractive, but not as attractive as she, orange-blonde haired girl who asked me out on a date Monday. I'd agreed for some reason, regretting it immediately after and not knowing why, then remembering that I have no obligation to Miss Grey once I realized that the reason was her. . I then gave into my will and texted her, using her cousin as an excuse to just see her name pop up on my display. I'm really quite disgusting actually. But with all do respect, she clearly emphasized to me last Saturday at her parent's house that she had no intentions of being open about any kind relationship we'd have together, and I don't blame her. She's my boss, I'm her subordinate, flunky, slave—apples and oranges.

To my surprise alone, I'd been offended by her humor in my not-so-much request to keep what we had done a secret. Honestly, I_ wanted_ her to tell people, but I wanted _her_ to tell, and I couldn't tell you why. I just wanted the whole world to fucking know for some foreign reason. God, she's a fucking asshole. I really, really, really, really, truly hold secular disdain for her. So, why the hell is she all I think about? I haven't been this confused about anything in a long time.

I hop out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist before padding over to the sink to brush my teeth. My reflection is an absolute depiction of my 21 years of living—backwards. Everything in my life is backwards—backwards as in not going in the correct direction. Every step forward for me is usually followed by two steps back and no matter how much I like it or not, I'll always be this way.

My phone rings as I slide my V-neck white tee over my head.

"Hey, Daph, what's up?"

"Bailey needs help with her math homework could you help?" She says all in one breath.

I freeze in place from sliding my shoe on and wait for just a minute. "You just want to see me, right?" I smile because she's hilarious.

"What gave me away?" She groans irritated.

"I can't now; I have to take care of a few things, maybe later?"

"Bailey will be super disappointed." She warns

"Tell her that I'm sorry?" I switch the phone from my left hand to the right so that I can slide my watch on and slip it into place. Bailey is Daphne's daughter from a previous marriage with this mobster named Pilo, I roll my eyes at his name. He was gunned down six years ago outside a parking lot in Pasadena. I usually take care of her because she's a good kid, and a smart kid who doesn't need my help in academics. My eyes find the back of my head once again.

"Fine. I'll see you later, then?" She whispers carefully down the phone.

"Yes, Daphne, goodbye." I say simply and hit the end button. I slide my jacket on and grab my keys off the coffee table, heading out the front door.

* * *

The Seattle streets are busy this time of day, and I contemplate going back home and sleeping for the rest of the day rather than going to Seattle University to hear Maximillian Fletcher's boring lecture on his research in amino acids found on a meteorite. I've been personally invited by my old Biology teacher who is in town for the lecture to attend. He's very much the genius as well, and something holds his interest then it must be worth the time.

At the stoplight I rest my head on the back of my seat and exhale, my eyes wandering to the street on my left. My eyebrows pull together and I do a double take when I see a familiar woman walk into a small animal shelter boutique. Is that…Miss Grey? My eyes widen, and I'm startled when I hear several cars honk behind me because the light has turned green. I quickly compose myself and remove my foot from the break, hitting the gas and taking off.

What the hell was Miss Grey doing walking to an animal shelter? Maybe it wasn't her? No, no…I'd know those legs anywhere—it was definitely her. It takes all of five seconds from my curiosity to envelope me and before I know it I'm making a U-Turn and heading back to where she is, turning onto a corner and parking. I hop out of the car and walk until I reach the entrance to "Paws and Puffs Animal Shelter", pushing the door open and sauntering in. The place is small and quaint with a huge marble sectional desk to the far left as soon as you walk in. The floor is wood and the ceiling is the classic rough white spackle you only see in old houses from the 90's. The walls are a pale green and decorated with pictures of animals and their owners. There are cages in the windows pointing to the outside world filled primarily with dogs, and a few cats, and I think a pig maybe? My eyebrows pull even closer together as I inch towards it. It's looking directly at me and possibly smiling. I back away slowly.

"Hello." A timid voice calls from behind me, and I turn around to see a pale blond haired girl pulled messily into a ponytail and large brown eyes. She bites her lip and smiles up at me, I smile back down, causing her to blush profusely. "Can I please, please help you today with anything?" She bats her short eyelashes as she shifts from foot to foot.

Jeez, it's just a face—no need to lose your cool.

"Yes, actually I'm looking for a girl who walked in not too long ago? Curly brown hair, grey eyes—she was wearing… black skinny jeans and a light blue polo?" I raise an eyebrow, and blondie's face falls as she studies me.

"Phoebe?" She says simply, her eyes not leaving mine. I nod slowly and she rolls her eyes—whoa, what happened to sweet innocent pale blonde girl. "This way." She motions to the back room. She pushes the door open to reveal a larger room filled with quite a bit of people tending to animals that look like they've just been hit by trains or lit on fire. My eyes widen as the lady tries to wash a huge Rottweiler with a sponge and it whimpers like a Chihuahua. My eyes scan through the endless sea of people before finally spotting Miss Grey sitting on the floor by a cage in the far back brushing a small black Cocker- Spaniel gently. I make note of Dutch's huge build towering just above her, scoping out everyone in the room like their all criminals. I pad over to her and stop just a ways behind, nodding to Dutch who returns my nod.

Crouching down onto my thighs, I watch her closely until she finally takes notice of my presence, jumping in surprise. "What's his name?" I nod to the small brown-and-black happy soul she has delayed brushing.

Her eyes are wide and her lips are pressed tightly together as she stares at me. He eyes momentarily flicker down to the dog and then back to me again. She doesn't exhale when she says, "Pierre", and then softly lowers him back into his cage, closing it. She stands up as I do and brushes her jeans off, her eyes never leaving mine. "What are you doing here?" She says cautiously.

I decide to tease her. "Just looking to adopt." I say matter-of-factly, shrugging.

"You are, huh?" She asks, and I nod, a smile playing on my lips. "Well, there are a lot of animals here, I'm sure that we could find you one." I wait. 'We?' She says…does she _work _here? I suffer myself to ask.

"You're an employee?"

"Volunteer." She raises her eyebrows as she stares cautiously at me, intently waiting for me to respond.

"So you like animals?" I have to suppress my laugh as I speak. Her face tints a deep scarlet color as she stares at the ground, gnawing on that damned lip.

She shrugs, kneading her fingers together, not making eye-contact with me. I feel as if my entire world has just come crashing down around me and I can feel the tears prickling in my eyes from my oncoming spout of uncontrollable laughter.

This is the same woman who had no problem firing a man with a wife and kids for spilling his coffee on her blouse last week, the same one who inflicts pain physically, mentally, and _especially _emotionally on every single person she encounters daily. The one who supposedly has no heart at all according the boys downstairs in corporate, the bitch of all bitches, Phoebe Grey, and she has a weakness for animals.

"Oh, God." I mumble, staring at the ridiculously upholstered ceiling and trying the very best I can to suppress my laughter and failing miserably. I look back down to the seemingly innocently goddess in front of me. She still staring at the ground, but her blush has somewhat subsided. I clear my throat and open my mouth to speak but she beats me to the punch.

"What the fuck do you really want, Mr. Severin." She whispers aggressively through clenched teeth, inching towards me.

"How about a cat." I scoff.

"How about a pink slip." She grits, narrowing her eyes at me.

"Look, I was just passing through and you just so happened to be here."

"I've been volunteering here for 8 years." She shakes her head in disbelief as she stares at me incredulously.

Holy cow—8 years? She's been volunteering here since she was 14 then. My jaw hits the floor at her confession. All I can say it wow.

"If you aren't actually looking to adopt then it would be nice if you leave. We're very busy back here." She motions to the whole of the room, filled with people cleaning, feeding, grooming, and playing with animals. "And I'm sure that you'd much rather be out banging my cousin instead, am I correct?" She rolls her eyes. My face twists together in confusion, and she doesn't budge when my eyes begin to bore into hers. She turns to walk away but I take hold of her arm, wrenching her around to face me again.

"Are you serious?" I say, trying to keep my cool.

"Let's not do this now." She looks to the floor.

"If you didn't want to do it now, then why say anything in the first place."

"Mr. Severin!" She stomps her foot down like a petulant child. I lean over to Dutch and ask if I could speak with her outside momentarily. He nods tightly, and I pull her out both doors and onto the street, letting go of her arm once we're outside.

"You're fucking jealous?" I snap, and she puts her eyes widen. "What kind of joke are you trying to pull here?!"

"JEALOUS?" She screams. "WHO THE HELL IS JEALOUS?!"

"Lower your fucking voice, woman." I whisper in a deathly tone, pedestrians ignore her outburst and continue walking.

"Me? Jealous? Of what? The horrible sex that the two of you will possibly engage in?" She throws her hands up exasperatedly. "Don't fucking insult me." She scoffs.

My lips pull into a disbelieving open-mouth smile. I'm dumbfounded. "What are you, five?" I say disbelievingly.  
"Six, actually, you pig-headed son of a bitch." She eyes me up and down like I make her sick.

"I don't get you… One minute you want nothing to do with me, and the next you act as if you can't function without me." I say in an irritatingly calm tone, not knowing how to speak anymore.

"Well, did you even think maybe because that's exactly the way it is you rattle-skulled bastard!" Her voice breaks as she pins me in place with her smoldering grey orbs. "I don't want a damn thing to do with you, honestly. But I want you so badly that it hurts me—like literally_ hurts_ me." She holds her splayed hand over her chest. "It's difficult being around you, you're fucking ridiculous!"

I move closer to her and she presses her back into the wall. "Look, _bitch_. You _make_ things difficult—you always have. Ever since the day I fucking met you, you've done nothing but mentally screw me over with your fucking mind games." I hiss, and she shivers slightly. "I'm just—done." I say simply. Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head microscopically.

"What are you talking about?" She asks cautiously.

"If you want me, you can have me—I give up." Her face falls.

"Just like that?" Yes, just like that. I can't take it anymore, I can't ease this fucking sexual tension with random girls I meet in nightclubs and jacking myself off every single morning anymore. I can't deny such obvious truths to myself: I should have went to high school, I am too young to have a fucking masters degree, I still watch cartoons and eat junk food, and I—I am fucking obsessed with the woman standing in front of me right now, and all of the reason commanding me to walk away is being forcefully pushed back by my overwhelming desire for her. In this moment I could lose everything that I've worked my ass off for in the last 6 ½ years, and I didn't give a shit.

I nod my head slowly, and I think for the first time since she saw me not 20 minutes ago beside her, she exhales. She stares at the ground for a moment.

"I hate you." She mumbles under her breath. I open my mouth to argue, but places her pointer finger on my mouth, looking up to me with eyes of thunder. "I want you. _Now."_ My eyes flicker momentarily and I grab her wrist tightly, jerking her down the street to my car.


	10. Sunday (Continued)

**I know that my chapters are pretty short but look at it this way—longer chapters mean less frequent updates… So just hang in there, okay? :(**

**This chapters pretty graphic in terms of…sexual-ness…so yeah! You guys have waited long enough—here it is! Please enjoy. **

Everything from the ride home to his apartment is a blur. For just a moment I'm exploring the inside of his mouth with my tongue with my back pressed against the wall beside his front door, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. Not too long after we're dry-fucking each other on his kitchen counter, his thick hot groin ebbed against the thin fabric of my jeans. I breathe his intoxicating scent as he sucked up and down my neck and everything below my waistline refused to subside from the torturous clenching until we became one.

His hard body pressed against me as he pinned me into the mattress of his bed, our bodies fitting perfectly into one another. Light floods into the bedroom from the large French window and panels onto his sheets, momentarily blinding me. He bites down hard on my bottom lip and a small whimper escapes from the back of my throat. I rip his shirt over his head, and he rips off my button down polo and tosses it across his king-sized bed, maneuvering through my front-snap bra with ease and following suit. He presses his warm body back against my chest and continues to attack me with his mouth, kissing my lips softly and trailing wet kisses down my jaw line and then to my collarbones where he firmly bites each one. He cups my breasts in his hand and mumbles unintelligible—but still ridiculously profound obscenities of how perfect they are before closing his sexy lips around one and sliding his soaked tongue back and forth, continuing with the other—I don't take my eyes off of him for a second. He continues down my belly, marking me. Indefinitely, I will bruise—and for fucks sake—I _want_ to. I don't want to forget the touch of his hands on me, or the burning sensation as his mouth presses and retreats, leaving me crying for more.

His tongue teases at the waistline of my jeans for just a moment as he undoes my button and slowly slides my zipper down before abruptly snatching the pants down and over my thighs. Before I can process what happened his mouth is moving against my clit through the exterior of my panties. I moan and my hands snake into his hair, pulling it tightly. Gifted, experienced tongue teasing my hot slit from the outside of the lace, he begins to circle my clit with the pad of his thumb. Not being able to hold on any longer I moan loudly, my head falling back into the mattress and my back arching in response to the orgasm that pulsates through me with no warning.

He props himself on one arm, unbuckling his jeans with calm demure, but his face a scorching spectrum of uncontrolled lust. I reach down, pulling the belt from every loop and slinging it across the room, the metal cracking against the far right window. I push him—hard, and he responds, rolling over on his back. Positioning myself in between his legs I pull his pants down his thighs and over his feet, moving closer to my prize.

His erection strains against the thin fabric of his boxers and I bring my hand to rest over it, tracing the shape with my index finger. I grab the hem of him boxers, momentarily worrying the skin along his strong hipbones and then yanking them down, allowing him to spring free. My mouth drops open at his tower—it _is_ fucking huge, thick, solid, long. My eyebrow cocks at his smug grin staring down at me, and I use my middle finger to flick his rod, causing him to moan the most delicious sound I've ever heard from a man.

I wrap my fingers around him and they're so much tinier in comparison. I stroke him, gradually picking up my pace before finally closing my lips around his tip, flicking my tongue against the sensitive spot. Taking him further and further into my mouth, he grabs my hair into a ponytail and pushes me, egging me to go deeper, and I do, taking every single inch of him down my throat to the base.

"Fucking Christ." He seethes, his voice straining, letting my hair fall freely around my face again. I pull back for air, and take the whole of him down my throat again, and again, until he finally gives in, rolling me over and positioning himself between my legs.

He doesn't bother to ask me whether or not I'm on the pill—which I am—before he lifts both of my legs up vertically and _slams_—not slides—inside of me, pushing my thighs closer to my chest to deepen himself. My mind goes fuzzy and my body heats in panic as it attempts to adjust to his overwhelming size, digging my nails into his thick comforter.

"You okay?" He breathes, waiting for my approval to continue. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth and nod, my eyes locked on his. He presses his heavy build against my restrained legs, his hands firmly around the underside of my thighs, tipping me over the edge when he begins to move, his hot, slick monster sliding in and out of me and his warm skin pressing against my clit. I can feel the top of his cock hitting the bottom of my stomach and almost cry from how amazing the smooth, wet sensation is. He rocks steadily into me, his breathing becoming shallower as his pace quickens and a thin sheet of sweat begins to form atop our skin.

I don't hesitate when he pulls my body up and on top of him, pumping his hips upwards, tempting me to move. I oblige, slowly bouncing on him, my legs resting on my thighs. His body reaches up to meet mine with every thrust and I'm inclined to lean forward when he begins moves faster.

He bites my ear and whispers breathlessly, "I want to feel you all over me, baby."

"Oh, fuck."

His words make me moan, and he grunts, digging both hands into my ass, pounding harder into me until I explode around him. My fingernails worry the flesh on his tight bicep as I collapse into his chest. He chuckles, stroking the back of my head with one hand.

"I'm not quite done yet." He murmurs in a dark voice, and I find it hard to believe that this guy can survive a deep-throat _and _a full-on three position fuck session and still be hard. I don't remove his still pulsating erection from inside me, turning around so that my back is to his face—my body between his bent legs, and begin to rock against him. My body practically moves on its own as it begs for slam after slam onto his glorious cock. I begin to go faster, and he slides from under me, positioning behind me and wrapping my hair around his wrist, pulling hard. My head tilts backwards and my neck strains—the feeling is spectacular.

He grinds into me, teasing my body with his mouth and binding my hands behind my back with one of his. In all honesty—I lose track of how many times I come again—maybe 2 or 3? I bite my lip, urging the words that I've been wanting to say since the day he sauntered into my conference room.

"Please," I breathe. "Come inside me—Blaise, please." I glance back at his completely unraveled expression as his world slowly falls apart around him. He leans down onto me, biting my neck and burying into me several more times before finally releasing, cursing obscenities into my shoulder. His thick, hot, viscous fluid invades me, and causes me to shake in pleasure. Our uncontrolled moans bounce off the walls of his bedroom as my back arches my chest into the mattress below.

I twist around and push him under me again, grabbing his length and sucking the tip before dragging my tongue up the underside and sucking him clean. He's still semi-hard, but I can easily fix that. I take him all the way back into my mouth until he's pressing against the back of my throat. Rolling his heavy sack in one hand, I hum against him in the back of my throat, and the sounds that he makes as I do so are purely singsong. I pick up my pace until he finally spills down my throat, seething my name under his breath.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I sit up and smile at him, and he looks up to me bewildered. His eyes flicker to his dissipated length, and then back to my eyes again.

"Fuck me," He says confusingly, staring me square in the eyes. He sits up and pulls me down so that I'm laying on his chest, my face buried into his peck.

"I believe I already did that." I scoff, tracing my finger along his collarbone.

We lay there for several minutes until our breathing finally evens out, and I look up at his face. He's staring at the ceiling, possibly in deep thought.

"Are you on birth control?" He finally asks, looking down at me. I shoot up from his chest and glare down at him.

"_Now_ you ask, you fucking moron?" I say through clenched teeth, and slap his stomach.

"_Are_ you?" He sits up, holding my shoulders. I roll my eyes, not saying anything for a while just to tease him. "Phoebe!" He yells.

"Jeez, calm down! I'm on the pill, no worries." I say sarcastically, hopping off of his huge bed and searching for the bathroom. I look back at him to ask, and he points to the far left room before I can say anything. I do a double take at his delicious body tangled in the messy sheets, and his messy hair, which my hands were tangled in not too long ago. Flush burns my skin as his sexy, dark eyes rake up and down my naked body. I turn, slowly strutting to the bathroom and allowing him to take in every inch of me.

"You're so fucking wicked, woman." He growls, and I smile back at him, biting my lip playfully and disappearing into the bathroom.

My skin is covered in red blotchy spots, my hair is tangled and messy, my lips are bee-stung and puffy, and my face looks the brightest it's ever been. I'm pretty sure that without fail, I've just experienced the greatest sex of my life. It was amazing—he was amazing. Just when I thought that nothing could possibly get anymore perfect about him, he fucks the living daylights out of me—the best lay I've ever had. I should be tired as hell from coming four or five times, but I've never been so charged. So this is what good sex is like? This is what all the fuss is about? I still can't believe we managed to hold out as long as we did.

I'm jolted back to reality when there's a knock on the door, and then he enters without waiting for me to allow him.

"Please, come in." I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

"My house." He says coolly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorjamb. "Hungry, thirsty?" He asks.

I bring my index finger between my teeth and bite down, dragging my vision over his half-naked body—he's slid his boxers back on. When I nod slowly, his eyes flare with hunger, padding over to me and snaking his strong arms around my waist. I stand on my toes to reach his mouth with mine, and he kisses me deeply, biting my bottom lip hard and then sucking on it softly. My nipples harden and I moan when they brush across his smooth chest. His grip tightens around me and I can feel his firm erection press into my belly. I slide my hand across it, kissing down his neck.

"What's my name?" He whispers.

I don't hesitate. "Blaise." I let his name roll of my tongue and immediately feel his cock twitch under my hand.

His jaw tightens and he lifts me off my feet. "Bed, now."

* * *

"So…" My voice wanders off as I play with his ear. "You're not going out with Ava." It wasn't a question, I'm _telling_ him he's not.

A deep chuckle escapes his throat and he rolls onto his side to look at me. "No." He says simply, smiling halfway.

"Why did you agree to go anyway? You're disgusting." I grin.

"Because I'm a grown ass man and I have no obligations to any woman at the time." He remarks in a calm tone. I sit up and stare at him—he's right—I have no claim on him, and I don't really _want_ a claim on him so I have nothing to reply with.

"So even though you and I are doing this, you'll still be fucking other women?" My tone is incredulous.

His eyebrows pull together and he looks at me as if I've just said the stupidest thing in the world.

"What?!" I yell, pushing his shoulder—he doesn't budge, and I roll my eyes at the fact.

He raises his eyebrows and scratches the back of his head, searching for words. "I'm not going to lie and say I haven't been with other women lately because I have—I'm only human, and we—" He gestures his hand between the two of us. "had no kind of this going on…but I will say this: I don't want anyone but you right now. I haven't _wanted_ another woman as badly after meeting you. I find that I've started comparing other women that I meet to you, and 99.9% of the time, they don't come close." My heart drops into my stomach at his words, and I squeeze my fists tightly to stop the ache.

"Then why did you ask Ava out?" My eyes narrow.

"First of all—she asked _me_ out, and I simply complied."

"Why?!" I throw my arms up exasperatedly.

He shrugs, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "To irritate you." His voice is so calm, and it's excruciatingly sexy.

I feel my face fall at his confession. "Mission accomplished, bastard." I say dryly, sliding out of bed and searching for my clothes.

"Leaving so soon." He teases, poking my ass with the ball of his foot. I nearly fall forward, but thankfully catch myself.

"Asshole." I mumble under my breath, and he chuckles as I slide my underwear on followed by my jeans. He stares at me as I move around the room playing a game of search and find, lying against his headboard with his hands resting behind his head like a prince. His piercing eyes could melt dry ice and freeze the sun all at once—he's so damned gorgeous.

I stop in the middle of the room and ball my fists on my hips, glaring at him. "Where's my bra?" I point to the ground where my almost button-less polo lie, but no bra in sight. A tantalizing full-toothed wicked smile rips across his beautiful features and my breath hitches in my throat. He removes one hand from behind his head and shoves it under the pillow, pulling my white lace Victoria's Secret bra from underneath and allowing the strap to dangle on his index finger.

"This?" He says innocently, holding it out to me.

I inch toward him, "You had it there the whole time, you ass?" I say through clenched teeth, and he shrugs, the smile never leaving his face. I snatch it from him and thread my arms through the loops, snapping it in the front before padding over to my polo and attempting to fix it on me.

"I'd prefer to keep you walking around my house with your tits exposed at all times if I can." I don't turn around to face him, and flip him off over my shoulder. I can feel his smile widen behind me.

"Phone?" I say simply, turning around to face him. He nods over to the nightstand where his Galaxy lay flat on the dock. I grab the phone and begin to dial Bennett's telephone number. It's kind of awkward calling Benny to come and pick me up in a strange apartment randomly in the middle of the day, but he's the only person that I can trust to keep his mouth shut about it and ask little to no questions.

"Hello?" His voice is confused on the other end of the line.

"Hey, Benny. It's Phoebe."

"Oh, hey Phebs!" His tone brightens. "Did you get a new phone, muppet?" He scoffs.

"No, I'm calling from a friend's house," I glance at Blaise, who appears to be paying me no attention—he's damn good at not giving a shit, I'll give him that. "Will you please come pick me up big cousin?" I say in the sweetest voice I can conjure.

"Ahh—" He hesitates for a moment, and I hear background sounds paving through his silence. "Sure, kiddo, where are you?" I give him the address, and he tells me he'll be here shortly, hanging up the phone.

"I could have just taken you home." He shrugs microscopically, glancing over to me and I shake my head in response.

"I'd much rather you not."

"And why is that?" He scoffs.

My eyes find the ceiling, and I grin. "Because you're an asshole and I don't enjoy your company?"

He snorts. "That's not what it seemed like when you were screaming my name 10 minutes ago."

"Burn in hell." I say sweetly, smiling.

"I'll meet you there, baby." He winks, and I'm disappointed in the way that my heart thumps every time he slams that damned endearment into me. I slide on my tennis shoes and pad back to the bathroom.

I attempt to wrestle my hair into a neat ponytail, and fail miserably with no brush. "Don't you have a brush or something?" I yell out the door to him.

"There should be a comb in the medicine cabinet." He remarks. I slide the large wall mirror over to reveal shelves filled with men's items—shaving cream/razor, medicine bottles, cologne bottles, band-aid boxes, a watch, and other miscellaneous. Spotting the comb, I slide the medicine cabinet closed again.

Finally taming my hair into a neat loose bun at the base of my head, I set the comb down and walk out into the bedroom which he is aptly absent from. I turn to the door, and walk through his abnormally large hallway, making a note of how big his apartment is. I finally find him in the kitchen, with those red flannel pajama pants on and nothing else, pouring cereal into a crystal glass bowl.

"Little too late for that, isn't it?" I joke, settling myself at the other side of his kitchen island.

"It's 8am somewhere." He shrugs, and I look at his microwave clock—4:40.

"True…" I hold the word, and he stares at me for a moment.

"Would you like some cereal, Phoebe?" He stifles a laugh.

"I'm too old for Fruit Loops." I gesture the box he's set down.

His eyebrows pull together in confusion. "How the hell can anyone be too old for Fruit Loops?" He narrows his eyes.

"It's a kid's cereal."

"It's cereal, baby, there _is_ no age limit for it. It doesn't care how old you are." He smiles halfway, pushing the bowl to me. I stare at it momentarily before picking the spoon up and swishing it around.

"Can I at least have milk?" I cock an eyebrow, and he pushes the carton over to me, his face still wearing that 'you just said something stupid as hell' look.

After pouring my milk and taking the first bite…the cereal was gone in less than 2 minutes, and he watched me eat the whole thing.

"Are you serious?" He says, deadpan.

"What?! I used to love Fruit Loops." I pout.

"Then why don't you just…hmm...I don't know—eat them?" He scoffs.

"Because I'm too old!"

"You're fucking ridiculous." He rolls his eyes, taking the bowl from me and pouring more cereal and milk into it.

"And you're a lot more unsophisticated than I thought you were."

"All the more reason to not judge before you know a person." He nods curtly, taking a bite of the cereal.

I snort and his eyes snap to meet mine. "You don't know me, and you judge me all the time."

"You're a bitch." He says in a low tone. "What more do I need to know?"

"And you're an asshole, so I think we're all even here." I smile, and his cell phone beeps to life with a text alert. He picks it up for a glance and then quickly drops it back onto the counter.

"Your rides here." He says simply.

"Thank God." I mumble under my breath, and he smiles as he chews, his eyes not lifting from his cereal bowl.

I slide off of the stool and pad over to the front door, twisting the handle, and a hand presses it shut again. I turn around to the culprit to complain, but before I can get a word out his mouth is on mine, and his arms are around my waist, pulling my closer to him. I stand on my toes and wrap my arm around his neck, deepening the kiss. He rips his mouth away, resting his forehead on mine and breathing deeply against my mouth.

"Bye." He whispers, and then lets go of me, backing away to watch me leave.

I stumble backwards just a fraction, attempting to steady my weakened legs. I stare at his deep, impassive eyes for what seems like eternity before finally twisting the handle again, and stepping out of his door. There's a ghost of a smile playing on his features as I close the door behind me.

_The hell was that?_

* * *

Benny didn't ask many questions like I knew he wouldn't. He just complained about his sister and how much of an annoying slut she is and how much he can't stand her at times and doesn't see how I do. I then proceed to tell him that I don't put up with her—I put her in _line_. I steel myself to ask about his pregnant ex out of curiosity.

"Oh, fuck Ava's big ass mouth." He groans.

"I'm so sorry Benny I didn't—" I shake my head, embarrassed for asking.

"No, no Phoebs, it doesn't bother me that _you_ know—honestly. It's just that if she's told you, who knows who else she's told, God damnit." He bangs his fist against the steering wheel. We sit in silence for a good while, and I gnaw on my bottom lip to keep my mind busy.

"It's mine." He says finally, and my head snaps over to his face. "What?" His eyebrows pull together as he stares at the road. "Say something?"

"You're going to be a father?" I fail to contain my excitement, and his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

"I'm—going to be a father…" He says sullenly.

"You don't sound too excited about the fact?" I scoff.

"I'm 25, Phoebe—what the hell am I going to do with a _child?_" His voice breaks.

"Bennett—you are one of the greatest, most amazing men that I know…You'll make a great father, I promise." I pat his shoulder for reassurance. His hands tighten around the steering wheel and he gives me a tight smile.

We arrive in front of my condo not long after and I hop out.

"Thank you so much, Benben." I smile, and begin to close the door.

"Phoebe—" He halts me.

"Yeah?" I widen the door again, looking into his silver-blue eyes.

"Enjoy being young, okay?" He says in a pained voice. I cock an eyebrow at him. He's one year older than I am, and he sounding like he's twenty. "Just take my word for it, okay muppet?" He sighs, and I nod, shutting the car door and watching him pull away from the curb and speed down the street.

I walk into the lobby and catch Dutch approaching me from the corner of my eye, holding my purse and jacket.

"Thank you so much, Dutch." I say, taking my things from him. I'd given him a call earlier to let him know that I was okay and to meet me in the lobby at my complex in thirty. "That's all." I say, waving him off.

He bows, and walks out the revolving door.

As soon as I enter my condo, a cold rush of air hits me. My house for once doesn't feel like home. Being with Blaise had easily been the best 4 or 5 hours I've ever spent with any other human being in a long, long time. His apartment was so warm, and I don't know if it was because he was there or just because it was, but as I pad through my empty, echoic home—I_ crave_ to go back there. My body itches to be snuggled in his warm arms again, to joke and play, even _argue_—which we did a lot, and of course have more mind-shattering sex.

I sit on my couch and flicker the television on, wanting desperately for anything to fill this empty space.


	11. Delayed Gratification (Not at all)

**To the people saying that I let Phoebe give in too early…PHOEBE WAS NOT THE ONE WHO WAS HOLDING OUT! If you go back and read closely, **_**Blaise**_** was the one who refused to sleep with her, but he gave in chapter 10. Phoebe wanted to have sex with him, and despite her condescension—she had every intention of sleeping with him from chapter 3 onward. So—yeah (: Enjoy. **

About a half hour ago, my brother busted into my office, as per usual, and started spouting bullshit about how I should meet his friend, who is probably an uptight upper crust bastard.

"Considering the fact that you've never participated in any freelance labor I think this could be good for you." Teddy explains.

"Why the hell should I have to inhibit in such activities? I'm rich! And what the does that have to do with anything?"

"Trust me baby sis, dating Franklin will be a job." He starts to laugh, and my face remains stony and cold.

I hold my hand up in a notion for him to stop and he does. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, Phoebe, you're 24 years old and the only guy you've brought home in the last 7 years is B." Teddy calls Blaise "B" now, gross. "—And you two aren't even dating."

"You got that right." I mumble under my breath.

"I beg your pardon?" He interjects, and I shake my head in response.

"C'mon Phoebs, just meet the guy, alright?"

"No." I say quickly.

He snorts. "You're an asshole..."

"Thank you. Now, if that's all you needed—be on your way please." I motion to the door, in which he stares at for several seconds before looking back to me with a smug grin. Rolling his eyes, he pads out my glass tinted double doors, pushing both of them open in unison like he's a boss.

I stick my tongue out at the doors when they close.

My desk phone crackles to life with a familiar and enticing voice. "Miss Grey?"

I unconsciously fix my hair and straighten myself up although he can't hear me before hitting the call button. "Yes?"

"You're 11 o'clock is here." My shoulders slump at his proclamation.

"Send them in." I rub my temples.

Boris Underwood and Felicity Marks come prancing into my office not 10 seconds later, and I can already feel the bile rising in my throat. I stand and remove myself from behind my desk, placing my hands behind my back.

Felicity is a very tall, lanky woman of 29—or so she claims—possibly 60 but you can't tell anymore with all the technology now a days. Her skinny face scans over my entire body and then back to my face where she smiles widely and my hidden scowl.

"Phoebe, darling!" She embraces me, kissing one side of my face, and then the other. I make no effort to return he hug. Her lips feel like barbed-wire lined with two sticky buns on my face, and I have to fight the urge to wipe where her mouth is with the back of my hands.

"Felicity." I give her a tight nod.

"It's been so long." She smiles dryly at me.

_Not long enough._

I really don't want to roll my eyes but I do, but if she notices she doesn't show it, instead she sits down with her large portfolio in hand.

"Hey Boris." I smile widely to the tall, dark haired, old man who's always been like a third grandfather to me behind Ray and Carrick.

The lines around his eyes crinkle as he smiles back to me. "Phoebs." He opens his arms and pulls me into a huge bear hug. I squeeze him back.

"How's your father?"

I roll my eyes. "The same."

He shakes his head and makes a sad face. "I'm so sorry to hear that."

I giggle, motioning for him to sit next to Felicity.

Before I can even settle into my chair completely, Felicity is already spouting her bullshit.

"Zara would like for you to model for their spring catalog. They asked for you personally—can you believe it?" She gushes, and the bile begins to rise again.

"Oh?" I rest my elbow on the arm of my chair, propping the side of my head on my fist.

"Of course—I mean why wouldn't they? You being flawless and all." She can't hide the bite in her voice.

_Bitch._

"To be specific; they want you and only you to headline their website catalog. Runway is included." _That_ is never going to happen.

"Tell them I give my deepest apologies—I'm not interested." I give her a polite smile, turning my attention to Boris. I can feel her eyes bore into me as he discusses his and Felicity's new business plan for this weird retail thing. I'm honestly only paying half attention as my eyes constantly wander to the door.

When Boris and Felicity finally finish their rant on including me in their plan, I'm investing a little under 3 million—great. Don't even know how that happened.

"Au revoir." I wave to them as they saunter out of my office, practically kissing the floor as they thank me for my time.

When my stomach grumbles I know that it's time for a rather late lunch—but a lunch none-the-less. When I open my office door Blaise's eyes snap up to meet mine. His body scans over mine as I stand stock-still, waiting for him to say something—anything, but he says nothing. Instead, his eyes roll back up my body and to my face again, and he smile a small, enigmatic, but extremely panty dropping smile to me before continuing his work.

"I'm going to lunch…" I say simply. He doesn't hesitate when he stands and moves over to the closet, emerging with my coat and purse. I slide on the jacket and slug my purse onto my shoulder. He moves back behind his desk and continues writing something into a manila folder.

I turn to pad out of the office.

"Have a good lunch." He mumbles almost inaudibly, and a mixture of irriance and self-betrayal boils over as my heart thumps against my ribcage. I turn around to make sure I heard right, but see him sitting down, paying me no attention what-so-ever.

I do a double take, turning around and then back to him again. "Did—did you say something?"

He looks up at me, confused. "No..." He says, shaking his head slightly.

"I see." My eyebrows pull together in confusion, and I make my way to the elevators.

* * *

When I come back from lunch, Blaise is at his desk typing away, just like he was when I left. I stand just a foot away from the head, staring at him.

He doesn't stop typing or even look up when he says, "What?" In a very rude manner might I add.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

He stops typing and stares up at me wide-eyed before narrowing then in confusion. "I beg your pardon?" His eyebrows pull together

"What are you working on?" Involuntarily, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip.

He looks at me, and then back at his computer screen like he doesn't know what the hell to say.

"I'm projecting your progress for the last 3 quarters or so—like you asked me to." He says in a questioning tone.

"How's it looking?" I shrug.

"Good." He says simply, not breaking his gaze from mine.

I roll my eyes. "Can you be a bit more nice? I'm trying here. You should."

He grins smugly. "I like arguing with you—it's fun." I narrow my eyes, and his grin grows into a full-on smile, his pearly whites blinding me.

"Fun?"

"Fun…I never thought that I could ever have fun arguing with anyone—that quickly changed." He begins to laugh. "Regardless of the fact that you're a twisted bitch with half a soul—"I don't know if it's the chicken I had for lunch, or Felicity's less than wanted presence finally coming back to me, but something in my brain snaps right there.

I slam my palms onto the desk, leaning into his face. The bastard doesn't even flinch.

The metal of my purse clacks against the wood as I move closer so that only his ears can hear, I can feel my teeth grinding together before I even speak. "You're an asshole—and if I weren't for that big dick and your pretty face—you'd be gone—you got that? So I'd watch that mouth of yours—I'm fucking serious." I use my index to poke his shoulder. "No amount of sexual gravitation will ever keep you employed under me with that defiant _fucking_ mouth of yours. Stay…in your _place_." I hiss.

His eyes glaze over. "You think my face is pretty?"

My jaw drops. "Did you not hear a damn word I said?"

"You're not going to fire me Miss Grey." He smiles as if he's so sure about everything in the world with no doubt, resting his head on his hand.

"And why the hell would I not?"

"Because you're in love with me."

And just like that—everything that I thought I knew about my life comes falling down around me. "What the fuck did you just say?" I say slowly, daring him to say another word.

He leans in closer to me, so close that our foreheads are almost touching. "You—are in love with me." He whispers.

"I do not love you." I say through clenched teeth.

"I didn't say that you love me, baby. I said that you're _in_ love with me—big difference."

"I barely know you."

"Exactly my point—you fall too easily. It's written all over your face. I bet you think about me all the time, right?" He's trying so hard to suppress his smile. "But here's the thing—when you fall in love—you want the other person to love you back, and when they do—you stop loving them because you've obtained their morale, you become bored. You feel that you don't need anyone and you're fine on your own. You are worse than the entire male species combined." He scoffs, leaning back into his chair. "Let me put it as clearly as I possibly can. I will never fall in love with you. You're cocky, shallow, and fucked-up. You can put up that perfect, flawless act to everyone else—but you don't fool me—I've seen how damaged you are, and it's prominent—"

"Stop." I snap, backing away from his desk. I press my palm against my forehead to check that I'm still alive, and then glance around for any spectators. The entire office is desolate aside from him, I, and the vague sound of telephones ringing in the cubicles over yonder. "Go home." I say quietly.

His eyes widen, and I repeat myself as sternly as I possibly can, backing to the doors of my office. "Go home Mr. Severin." I pull my office doors open and pad inside, allowing the door to click gently behind me.

I feel my hands tremble as I pull my jacket off and toss it to the floor, not giving a shit about my untidiness. I begin to pace back and forth, running my hands through my long curls.

Jake, Kane, Donald, Damien, Joshua, Steven, Jason, Alex—all of my previous boyfriends. I can't remember a single one that I didn't fall head over heels for, and my relationship ended one way or another with them. Either with them dumping me because I'd become distant and condescending, or with me dumping them because I felt that the relationship "wouldn't go anywhere from here." How the hell did he know about that? Is he actually a fucking telepath? But I don't fucking love Blaise—I swear. I've never despised a man so badly in my entire life. The feeling that I have for him is one that I've never had for anyone else—ever.

Storming over to my desk, I ruffle through my drawers and pull out a bottle of Tylenol. When I hear a knock on the door I flinch, the pills sprawling all over the carpet.

I don't get the chance to tell whoever it is to go the fuck away before my office door cracks open.

Mr. Severin stares at me passively, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Get the fuck out of my office!" I scream, dropping to the floor to pick up my pills. A pair of deep black loafers appears in my view as I'm picking up the last of them. I slap his ankle, and he moves out of the way slightly. "Get out." I choke on my own words.

"Why? Because I told you the fucking truth? I can't lie to you Miss Grey."

"You sure as hell didn't have a problem lying to my damn brother about that broken window bullshit." I hiss.

"You are not your brother." He crouches down onto his thighs smoothly, tilting his head. "I can't lie to _you_." He point to me.

"You're an asshole." I grit, standing up rather ungracefully, attempting to balance myself with my desk. My eyes are slightly unfocused.

"And you're a bitch." He moves closer to me, his knuckles cracking in his pockets.

I back away to the windows adjacent to my desk to evade him. Surely he wouldn't actually hit me…would he?

"If I'm such a bitch—and thank you for reminding me for the 100th time by the way—why don't you just quit? Who's stopping you?!"

"You purposely drive me to insanity, and you do it because you know I can't say anything about it."

"You can quit!" I yell, putting the option out there again. "Unless you like working for me." I scoff.

"Going out in the middle of the night to buy you tampons, coddling your crybaby ass to sleep, doing a good 40% of your work—work that I'm not even supposed to be doing, lying for you, sitting through 3 hours of dinner with your family, having to come to work every single day just so you can eye fuck me, pretending that it doesn't drive me crazy in the best possible way, the list can fucking go on." He throws his hands up submissively. "I go to hell and back for you every single time I step foot into your damn spectrum, you ungrateful bitch—you maniacal sick, twisted bitch. I don't fucking like you." Oh really? He sees my disbelief and lowers his voice as he stares deep into my eyes. "I fucking despise you." My back is now against the window, and my breathing is ragged, my throat hurts from screaming so much. I can't even begin to fathom what's going to happen next. I'm actually scared as fuck right now, but I'll be damned if I'm giving in to him.

"The feeling is completely mutual. You worthless, haphazard, disconcerting son of a bit—" His mouth crashes into mine, his hands on either side of my head. When he pulls away I'm breathless, "Stop." I weep, trying to push him away but my hands are pudding.

"Just—shut the_ fuck_ up." He commands through clenched teeth, pushing my arms away.

"Please," I can't—I can't do this—not now. He kisses me again, and my lips part to welcome him involuntary. My legs go weak and he quickly supports me my hips as his tongue goes to work in my mouth, twisting and swirling in perfect harmony. I bite his bottom lip hard, and the most delicious groan escapes from the back of his throat. He kisses my top lip so tenderly, and I kiss his bottom as a counter as I dig my hands in his hair and pull at the roots—he tastes amazing. I growl when his hands travel up my body and give my hair a sharp tug.

"Fuck." He seethes, pulling away from me and holding me close by my face. His lips are a deep shade of red from my lipstick and slightly swollen. "What the hell are you doing to me?" He says through clenched teeth.

I bring his lips back to mine, not wanting him to stop, wrapping my leg around his waist and grinding against his pulsating erection. "Come on," I moan desperately, and I don't care. I need this—I need him.

"Come on, what?" He says breathlessly.

I don't hesitate, "I want you inside me Mr. Severin, now." He squeezes my ass and clenches his body harder against mine, suffocating me against the glass.

He lifts me off the ground and within a few long strides, drops me hard on my ass on my granite-like desk, pushing all of my things away to make room. I squeal at the contact but before I have time to react to the pain he's pulling my skirt up over my hips, and my panties down to my feet and throwing them across the room. My head goes back and I gasp as he quickly works wonders between my legs, his tongue circling around my clit and flicking it softly while two fingers slam into me. He sucks and licks in between my tender slit with absolute precision, making sure not to miss a single spot. I dig my hands into his hair, pulling hard and he groans, sending a vibration through my entire body.

"Oh my God." I cry out as my orgasm starts to spread. My legs try to slam shut but he keeps them spread, continuing to fuck me with his fingers and humming through his teeth, my eyes roll to the back of my head and my mind go blank.

"Look at me, baby, look at me." His voice only amplifies my undoing, and I cry out louder as I bring my eyes to his. He seems to lose control when I do, quickly unzipping his pants, pulling me up so that I'm eye to eye with him, and positioning himself at my entrance. The wind is knocked out of me when he slams into me suddenly, moving rapidly. I grip the edge of the desk and wrap both of my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his ass. "Shit." He groans. "Amazing…you feel amazing." He breathes, and picks up his pace, rubbing his fingers on my clit.

"Harder." I whisper in his ear, biting his earlobe and playing with it in between my teeth. I raise my hips to meet with every one of his deep, forceful thrusts, and he licks and sucks my hard nipples from the outside of my blouse. "I'm so close." I whimper, and he kisses me again, picking up his pace. I let go of the desk and wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face in it as I ride through my orgasm, practically screeching his name in satisfaction and collapsing back onto the desk.

He doesn't give me time to rest before he peels me off and turns me onto my stomach, the tip of his cock sliding up and down, playing with the wetness inside of my slit. I back my ass into him, encouraging him to come on and he chuckles, enjoying his momentary power against me. I glance back irritated to meet his amused face.

"Say please." He commands softly.

"Fuck you." I say sweetly, and he grins wide, narrowing his eyes and slamming into me once again, and then quickly pulling out.

"Please?" He asks again.

"Go to hell!" I cry out, hitting my forehead against my desk in exasperation. He slams into me again and quickly removes himself and I ball my fist up, resisting the urge to cry at my deprived satisfaction. He then proceeds to do it again, and again. I'm losing my mind slowly but surely as the seconds pull away like hours.

"Beg me you cynical bitch, or you get _nothing_." He spits at me through clenched teeth, and slams into me only to remove himself once again.

"Please." I whisper.

"WHAT WAS THAT? I DON'T THINK I FUCKING HEARD YOU." He yells at me, and I sigh deeply.

"Please, I want you."

"You want me to do what?" He scoffs. I bite my lip and weep inwardly—why is he doing this to me?

"I want you to fuck me, Blaise, please. I want you to slam that big delicious cock in my wet pussy, please." I plead, and almost cry. I _need_ him—so badly. I don't look at his face—I can't take the embarrassment.

He inches away from my entrance, and then slowly and tenderly pushes his way into me, allowing me to absorb every single inch of his thick, glorious cock inside of me. God, I can feel it pushing against the base of my stomach. He pulls back, and then pushes back into me again without removing this time, slowly picking up his pace with each thrust. I moan loudly.

"Yeah?" He rests his body against my back as he rubs inside of me. "You like that?" He pulls me by my chin to face him and kisses me hard and possessively. "You won't feel this with anyone else, you know that?" I shake my head, not allowing him to drag me down to the abyss. He smirks and leans back, wrapping my hair around his hand and tugging it hard as he continues to fuck my pussy lifeless.

"Ah!" I dig my nails into my desk at an attempt to peel back some material to sate myself. Fuck this damn acrylic piece of shit desk. "Don't stop." I cry out, rounding the corner yet again.

He bends over and whispers in my ear, "You're fucking perfect Phoebe, and you have the tastiest clit. All I ever think about is fucking your tight, wet, beautiful pussy. I want you every single day." His words are my immediate undoing. I come hard all around him, breathing through my teeth and calling out his name.

He pulls me back up onto the desk and licks my wet vagina clean, circling his magical tongue around my clit and sucking everything out of me, and I come again.

_Wow._

I use my heel to kick him back on my chair and kneel down in front of him, taking him into my mouth and sliding him to the back of my throat and rolling him around my tongue.

"Do it again." He moans, and I oblige without hesitation, pushing his incredible length all the way to the back of my throat and then sucking on the tip. "Dear lord, Phoebe." I deep throat him effortlessly, only coming up occasionally for oxygen and rolling his hot heavy sack in my hands as I stare up at his defenseless face staring back down to me. "I'm coming." He grunts in a warning tone, and I rub him harder to speed the process up, pushing him as far back into my mouth as humanly possible until it hits the back of my skull. His cock pulsates once only and he comes buckets into my mouth, the hot, thick, salty viscosity slowly sliding down my esophagus. I pull back and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. His rock hard tower has officially subsided, and is now completely drained out. I bite my lip and peek up at him through my lashes. He's staring down at me dumbfounded, his mouth wide open.

He doesn't even flinch, standing and picking up all of my desk items silently before walking out of my office.

He stops at the door and glances back nervously at me. "Am I still fired?" His face pulls together in a pained expression, and I can't stifle my laugh. "What the hell is so funny?" He grits.

"Oh, just you Blaise, just you." I straighten my desk, looking over to him enigmatically. "No—not today. But I'd seriously watch that mouth of yours—you can't fuck your way out of trouble with everyone." I smile a fake smile that probably doesn't touch my cheekbones, and then wave him away, opening my laptop. He clenches his fists at his sides, pushing the door with his shoulder to get out.

_He's fucking adorable. You'd never guess that he fucks like a porn star. _

"Oh, and Mr. Severin?" He snaps his head back to me, raising a very irritated eyebrow.

"What the fuck do you want?" He says bluntly.

"Coffee." I say simply, returning to my computer screen.

He rolls his hard and then walks patently out of the room. I bite the cap of my pen and can't help but bask in his infallible glory.

I'm definitely—absolutely _not_ in love with him.

There's no way in hell.

I don't fall in love with_ sons of bitches._


	12. When Everything Goes Right

**Super, super short chapter, but I swear there will be another longer chapter like—today, and if not today—first ting tomorrow. I usually submit a chapter once every other day, or every 3 days but I don't have the time lately, sorry guys, but I'm a student. I really appreciate every single one of you and I hope you don't give up on me yet, cause I'm working really hard to entertain you. Enjoy.**

Wake up, mope, shower, get dressed, eat, mope some more, go to work.

It turns out that through everything in my life that has ever went wrong, the counter is the righteousness that usually follows. Like for instance my best friend Lauren dying when I was 16, the counter was meeting Malil, of whom I haven't seen in over 7 years and miss dearly. He was always so profound and underrated. Malil taught me things that I never would have been able to understand on my own, he made me realize that I was always going to be what people wanted me to be no matter what. Regardless of how hard I work, or how pretty I am. I'll always be a tool to society, working, fading, melting away slowly. But I'd like to think that I have control over some things in my life. In fact, I have a good hold on just about everything there is that I need.

"Good morning Miss Grey." And then there's him. I ignore him, silently cursing the likes of his presence and slamming my coat and purse on his desk before I storm into my office.

As soon as my door clicks shut I release a breath that I didn't know I was holding. "In love." I laugh once, lightly tapping my palm to my forehead. "Asinine bastard." I hiss under my breath, collapsing into my chair.

I know what love is, I've been in love before—I know what it feels like. What I feel for _him_ is not love, it's more like the feeling you get when you see two horses engaging in intercourse. Just—gross, and I'm insulted.

* * *

It's barely 10 minutes after 7 before I have a phone call—I've barely done anything.

"Phoebe Grey." I say simply. There's a sniffling on the other line. "Hello?"

There's a burst of sobbing before my name is sputtered out rather sloppily. "Phoebe…"

"Ava? What's the matter?" I asked concernedly.

"I'm pretty, right?" She sobs.

I roll my eyes then. "You're gorgeous Ava."

"Then why did I get stood up yesterday? I'm such a great catch."

My eyebrows pull together in confusion. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Blaise! He cancelled on me yesterday—I've been crying all night and this morning!" She explains, squealing, and I hold the phone a goon 10 inches away from my head.

"He cancelled on you?"

"That's what I said isn't it? I've never been stood up before!"

I rub my temple with my free hand and try to put everything together while I still have some sense. "Few things, Ava. First of all—standing up someone would mean he didn't call you and let you know that he wouldn't be accompanying you, which he did. Second—crying about it is ridiculous…you barely know the guy, and it's not like he was rude about the matter I'm sure. And finally, Ava you probably would have cheated on him anyway, so I don't understand why you're making such a big deal about something that would have ended in less than a week."

"He was the one, Phoebe!" She squeaks, ignoring me completely and continuing her sobbing.

"You said the same thing about Ricardo." I say dryly.

"Ricardo was scum." She counters.

"So is this guy." I mumble almost inaudibly.

"What?!" She yells through the phone.

"Nothing." I wave her off, continuing my work with the phone tucked between my ear and shoulder.

"Fire him!" She demands thoroughly, composing her voice.

"No." I say simply, rolling my eyes.

"Why not?!"

"Because he's the best worker I've ever had." I say truthfully. "And plus my father actually likes him—that doesn't happen very often with—people." I shrug.

She groans, possibly punching or kicking something with glass as I hear it tumble and crash in the background. "What does Uncle Christian know!? Just fire the son of a bitch!" She roars.

"Calm down, jeez."

"_Nobody_ stands up Ava Elizabeth Grey."

I laugh once. "He didn't stand you up, psycho. He _told_ you he wouldn't come..." She says nothing. "Hey, why don't you go get drunk and fuck random men to help yourself feel better, huh?" I say sweetly.

There's silence at the end of the line before I finally get my reply. "I think I just might." She laughs, and then the line is dead.

As soon as my phone hits the receiver I begin to laugh. At first it's a tiny chuckle, and before I know it I'm throwing my head back and roaring at the top of my lungs. I'm laughing so hard, that my stomach is actually beginning to hurt. I don't think I've laughed this hard in a long, long time—and I swear that I don't even know why I'm laughing. I'm just amused and happy for some reason. Tears prick my eyes as I clutch my sides and rest my head against my desk, and I'm losing oxygen by the second.

"Who the hell are you?" I hear a severely confused voice murmur in front of me. I stop laughing for only a half second, raising my head to meet Blaise's bewildered eyes.

I open my mouth to say something, but I'm quickly halted by my laughter yet again. I point at him, spouting unintelligible blather, laughing harder and harder. He looks more and more confused as he stares at me dumbfounded.

Stuttering to get words out, I finally say "Y-you—stood up my cousin." He finally registers what I say after a minute, shaking his head to clear his mind.

"What?" He asks. "No—"

I shake my head, denying his denial. "No, no bitch—you stood her up." I 'tsk, tsk' under my breath when my laughter finally subsides. "So mean."

He raises one of his perfect eyebrows. "Would you have preferred I go out with her? I'm sure it's not too late to call her back." He asks, pulling his cell phone out of her pocket and shaking it in my face.

My heart skips a beat at his bluff. I shrug, brushing the situation off. "It would make her feel better." His jaw tightens, and he glances at his phone before dialing a number and pressing the phone to his ear.

"Ringing." He says.

"Yeah, right." I mumble, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms tightly.

He's quiet for a moment, and then he speaks. "Ava?"

I don't know what the hell happens in that very second but something snaps inside of me and before I know it, I'm jumping across my desk, knocking everything in my path over and grabbing his phone from his hand, throwing it across the room. It makes contact with the glass windows on the far left and I can hear the screen crack before it tumbles to the floor in slow motion.

We both say nothing, just looking at the inevitably ruined mobile device on my white carpet. I suck in a breath, snapping my head over to Blaise, who's face is scarily stoic. He slowly turns his head over to me and his eyes lock on mine.

"What—the fuck?" He says in an extremely calm, mellow tone, but his eyes are like fire on me, and I can feel my body heating.

"I'm—I" I choke on my own words. He continues to stare me down, not giving away a shred of emotion. "I'm so sorry…I don't know why I did that." I shake my head.

He rests his on my desk, his arms on either side of me. "Really? You don't have the slightest clue?" He says quietly, calmly.

I bite my lip, my eyes finding the floor. He leans in closer to me so that our faces are nearly touching and my face burns from the nearness. "I'm sorry." I whimper. I meet his eyes with his still emotionless expression.

He grins smugly, shaking his head in exasperation "Why can't you just say what you feel?" He breathes. "Why does everything have to be so bottled up and hidden?"

I shrug. "I am who I am." I wander to the floor again.

He takes my face between his palms and forces my eyes to meet his. "Who made you this _way_, baby?" He asks in a pained tone, and my eyes widen at his declaration. "You—are _so_ fucked up. So _heartless._"

He rests his forehead against mine and shakes his head again and our noses push against each other as he does. "You're going to end up all alone if you keep this up." He breathes, and then kisses my forehead before releasing me. Before I can even reply, he's walking towards the window, collecting his cellphone, and then walking out the door.

I collapse to the floor and tears begin to fall, but I don't weep, I don't even sniff. They just fall and fall, and my face remains emotionless. I don't know why the hell I'm this way, and after this very second—I don't want to know, I just want it to end.


	13. The Hurricane

**Told from Blaise's POV.**** Enjoy.**

I'm 5 seconds away from standing in front of my bitch of a 24-year-old boss with an empty request. I already know what her answer will be and how it will consist of such endearing benevolence, but it can't hurt to ask. I knock on her crystal glass green-tinted office doors once before I'm allowed entry. Sliding through, I walk up to her desk and open my mouth to speak.

"May I please have tomorrow off?"

She smiles that beautiful full-toothed white smile and says, "No." Simply, and continues her work.

_Fuck._

I turn to walk away but she stops me in mid-step. "Why do you need tomorrow off?" She asks quietly, not looking up.

"My parents are in town tomorrow." I say matter-of-factly.

"They are, are they?" She asks.

I roll my eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

She lifts her eyes to meet me, but her head doesn't move. "Don't roll your eyes." How the hell could she have possibly known that I rolled my fucking eyes?

"I'm so very sorry."

"You don't sound it." She brings her head up now and tucks a loose tendril behind her ear. After a minute or two of studying me she finally speaks again. "You can have the day off tomorrow—if" She holds up one finger. "You finish all of your work for today—and tomorrow." She says with innate purpose.

My eyebrows pull together in confusion then. "All of my work for this week is finished."

She eyes me speculatively then saying, "Since when?"

I tilt my head and stare her down calmly. "Since Monday." I force back my smug grin.

"Then what we're you doing yesterday and all day today?" She crosses her arms which, god fucking damn me, forces her tits upwards so her cleavage is peeking through the top of her blouse.

I cough to compose myself. "What I always do…what you ask me to do." I shrug.

"I see…" Her eyes wander to the ceiling, and if I didn't know any better I would swear that she was smiling. "If that's the case, then you should have no problem doing what I tell you to do now then—hm?" She purrs, slowly bringing her long, beautiful leg up and settling her bare foot on her desk. She pushes her flimsy fabric pencil skirt above her thighs revealing her pink and white lace panties, and I can already feel my cock ripping through her. She motions for me to come with one finger, biting that fucking lip.

Damn—the lip biting gets me every time.

* * *

As soon as I walk into the airport I spot my giant of a father—he's really not hard to miss. He's towering above my also giant because of her 12 inch heels mother. They're gathering their luggage from the belt. I tweed my way through all of the other people in the large space that seems so cramped and finally make my way to them.

"Hello Mother." I say, grabbing one of the bags from her hand. She jumps suddenly, yelping like a schoolgirl being abducted.

"You scared me half to death Bernard! Lord." And so it begins. She hands me her other suitcase which feels like it's full of bricks. "You know your father and I almost got 'arrested' yesterday." She air quotes. "Damn old man doesn't know left from right over here." Taking my head betweens her palms, she kisses me square on the forehead and possibly leaves a red lipstick stain.

"Arrested?" I look at her, then to my Dad who's trying to contain his laughter. He shakes his head and then walks over to me, setting his luggage down on either side of him. He uses his palm to scrub my forehead and then pulls me into a giant bear hug.

"How's it been treating you lately?" He asks.

"What?"

"Life." He says, picking up his suitcases again. I can tell it's a serious question, but it's hard to answer correctly when my mom is still blathering nonsense in the background which is effectively enveloped by other peoples blather and the intercom above yelling out flight schedules.

I shrug, not knowing how else to respond, and he nods.

"Let me just say…" Mom interjects, breaking the moment. "Seattle hasn't changed a bit since I've here. Still no cows in the roads." She laughs.

"Yeah, maw, there's a strict no-cows policy in these parts." I say in a country accent. She can't contain her laughter then, leaning forward and hollering at the top of her lungs.

My mom is a fairly tall, skinny woman—around 5'7. She has short brown hair and blue-green eyes. She grew up in Reims and her parents were dirt poor from the time when she was born all the way up to when she hit 14 years old and her father won the lotto or something. Grandfather invested in some other major businesses and either got lucky, or he was smart. Either way, they were irreversibly rich and that's when she met my father. He's a testy man of 45. 6'3, Blonde hair, brown eyes, grumpy at times. He was born into money, always got what he wanted, never worked a day in his life. Mom didn't fall for him immediately and that's where the attraction began. I was born 1 year after they were married which was a few months after they met. Blah, blah blah. I won't give you the long version because it's boring.

When we get out to my car, both of my parents are dumbfounded. My father clears his throat, and then speaks. "This is what you're driving?" I look at my car, and then to him.

"Yeah?" I shrug.

"Well—why?" My mom chimes in, her eyes widening.

"Why not?" I drive a pretty decent car. The thing was over two hundred thousand dollars. The fuck is wrong with it?

"No worries, we'll get you another one." Dad says simply, loading his things into the trunk.

I roll my eyes. "I don't need another one—this one is just fine."

"For someone who can't afford a better one, yes."

"Dad—don't. I'm not in the mood."

"Alright, alright." He says simply, but I know the issue is not dropped.

My parents are such fucking snobs sometimes.

* * *

When my parents get settled in their hotel we sightsee for about 4 hours straight and then go to have dinner at this old Italian restaurant downtown.

"How's work?" Mom asks, lingering on the question.

"Work." I say simply.

"I think your mother is asking if it's bullshit or not." Dad adds rather bluntly.

"Dad…" I say, resting my face in my hands and breathing exhaustedly.

"It's definitely bullshit, see—he's not responding!"

"Bullshit indeed."

I laugh once at their mediocrity. "Can we stop saying that word? It's actually beginning to drive me nuts."

Dad leans forward and begins to stare me down. "I could have gotten you a much better job back home."

"Oh God." I do a light face palm.

"You didn't have to come all the way out here to prove that you weren't living in our shadow."

"Dad, you know damn well that's not what this is about."

"What is it about then, honey?" Mom says sweetly, resting her hand on my arm from her side of the table.

"This is about me, and what_ I_ want to do. It holds no value to you and your achievements." I mumble through my hand.

"What do you want to do? Do you have any clue son?" Dad asks sternly, his face stony. Why is he such a hard-ass?

"Mom, please tell him to leave me alone." I glance over to my mother who is paying us no attention now. She's looking over her shoulder to a table off in the distance. "Mom?" I tap her arm.

"She's gorgeous." She says in pure awe. "Look at her _shoes_." She adds. I look with her, trying to see what she sees. She take my head in her hand and turns it to the table she's staring at, which is so fucking ironically occupied by the devil herself. Phoebe fucking Grey.

"Shit." I say simply, shaking my head smugly and then looking up to the ceiling saying "Why me?"

"You should bring a girl like her home." Dad chimes in.

"No dad, I really, really shouldn't."

"Why the hell not?" Mom pouts.

"That—" I point to her and take little notice of the girl she's sitting across from who is understatedly attractive. "Is my boss."

My father can't hide his smug grin. "That's Christian Grey? Son I've met Christian Grey—and that's not him."

"That's his daughter." I interject his sarcasm. "I'm her PA."

"Phoebe Grey? That's Phoebe Grey?" Mom asks incredulously.

I nod once, and she loses her mind. "She's so pretty I had no idea."

"Tell me about it." I mumble angrily to myself.

"Oh, my!" She squeals. "She's looking over here." She breathes.

My eyes widen a fraction, and I turn around slowly to meet a pair of silent grey eyes staring back at me. She smiles and stands from her table, excusing herself from the girl across from her and gracefully sauntering over to my table. _Shit, shit, shit._

I straighten my jeans and long-sleeved polo unconsciously and smooth my hair back into place. When she reaches me her grin expands into a full-on smile.

"Good evening, Mr. Severin." She nods to me. She's wearing a silver-white cocktail dress that hugs her curves perfectly.

"Miss Grey." I return her nod. "My father, Andre. My mother Giselle." I point to them both. My father stands and takes Phoebe's hand, and she shakes his firmly. My mother stands as well, shaking her hand daintily like a princess.

"So you're the one who's been making my sons life miserable." Dad says rather bluntly. "Good job." He adds, and Phoebe laughs.

"Dad." I warn.

"Would you like to join us Miss Grey?" Mom offers, and I shake my head microscopically. She slaps my shoulder. "We would be much delighted."

"As enticing as that sounds Mrs. Severin, I have work to attend to at my own table. I simply thought that it would be rather rude of me to not give my greeting while I was here."

"Of course." My father smiles.

"You've raise an extraordinarily acceptable young man and Grey House is more than lucky to have him." She says in a graceful, uncharacteristic tone than makes me want to burst out laughing right there but I contain it.

"Oh dear." Mom covers her mouth. "You're so very sweet, thank you." She looks almost as if she's about to cry. It's not like it's the first time someone hasn't said such a thing about me. When I was younger, people used to spout that nonsense to my parents every single day. Why the hell should it make any difference now? "Bernard has always been a very hard worker, I'm glad he's putting it to use here."

Phoebe's eyes widen immensely, and she looks over to me like I'm on fire. "Bernard?"

"My middle name."

"Oh, yes, sorry. I've always called him Bernard. I don't consider Blaise to be a real name." She glares over to Dad who rolls his eyes. "So Bernard is what he's known as at home."

"I see." She says simply, dropping the issue alltogether. "Well, I hope you enjoy your evening—really. Dinner is on me."

"Oh, no need—" Dad interjects.

"It's fine, this restaurant belongs to my family." _Of course it does._ I put my hands in my head and breathe as softly as I possibly can.

"Oh, well thank you Miss Grey." Mom smiles.

"Of course, have a good evening." She finishes, and with that she turns and walks away.

I feel as if I've just entered the twilight zone. What the hell just happened? Just now she actually sounded like a normal human being. Not the kind of psychopath that hurdles peoples cell phones across rooms and does heartless shit to the people they care about.

"She's—perfect." Mom says dreamily. "Too bad she's your boss. You two would make the perfect couple." She pouts. Ha! If only she knew how much we _wouldn't_.

"Maybe Grey Enterprises isn't such a bad place after all, eh?" Dad nudges my shoulder.

My jaw drops. "Dad—you _abhor_ GEH. You think it's a ponzi scheme. "

"What do I know?" He waves me off.

_Are you fucking kidding me? _

The rest of dinner was mostly about Phoebe. And talking about Phoebe, about how beautiful and nicely dressed she is. I kept my eyes on my food, not saying a word as per usual.

_Hypocrites._

* * *

Once I dropped my parents off at their hotel and finally called it a day I was relieved by the fact that my ears hadn't completely fallen off from my mother's constant talking about this, that and the other.

I'm almost halfway home when I get a phone call. The screen reads Boss, and I roll my eyes before I press my Bluetooth piece into my ear and hit the phone button on the steeringwheel. "Yes?"

"Hello Bernard." She roars with laughter as I knew she would.

"How long have you been holding that one in, huh?"

"All fucking night." She continues to laugh.

"Yeah, yeah—laugh it up." She does. "What the hell do you want?"

"Will you come with me to visit my cousins girlfriend at the hospital?" She asks, trying to contain her breathlessness.

"Give me one reason why I should." I remark.

"I'll fire you if you don't."

"Well when you put it that way—no."

She laughs then. "Please? I hate hospitals."

I roll my eyes. "Then don't go."

"Don't roll your eyes, and I promised Benny that I'd be there."

"Promises are made to be broken."

"Just come. I'm asking you as a friend."

I almost die right there. "We're not friends, you're my boss. And a very asshole boss at that." I scoff.

"Seattle Hospital, 20 minutes." She says simply, and then hangs up. The bitch.

I press the phone button again. Shit. I don't want to go to the hospital at—8 at night. But do I have a choice? Like _really_ have a choice? I doubt it.

* * *

"Who's this?" Some blonde-haired preppy frat boy looking guy points to me, but keeps his eyes on Phoebe.

"My PA, Blaise Severin, Mr. Severin this is my cousin Bennett Grey—Ava's brother." She motions to him. He reaches his hand out for me and I shake it. I glare over to Phoebe who's playing with the fabric on her denim shorts. She invited me to somewhere that I wasn't welcome.

_Ass._

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Grey."

"Pleasures all mine, and please call me Benny. Mr. Grey is my father—and grandfather—and uncle." He says sincerely, smiling widely. "If you don't mind my asking—what are you doing here?"

Phoebe interjects before I have time to even think of a reason. "I asked him."

He then looks to her. "Why?" He asks, but it wasn't a rude question, just a curious one.

"No reason." She shrugs, trying to let the situation pass over.

"You need someone to take you home in case you faint from the sight of blood, right?" He says nonchalantly.

She doesn't hesitate. "Pretty much." She says nauseously.

"Seriously?" I can't hide my astonishment.

"Phoebe's been sensitive of large quantities of blood for years now."

"Oh?" I tilt my head.

"Yeah, but anyway this is my ex-girlfriend Tasha." He motions to the attractive, black haired Latina girl lying in the hospital bed asleep with a bulging belly. "She's been asleep all day, and she's been having pains so…yeah. You know you didn't have to come Phoebe, everything is fine."

"No, no—I want to be here, really." She holds her hands up defensively.

"Right." He smiles, settling on the foot of the bed next to Tasha, rubbing her leg softly. This guy is the polar opposite of Phoebe. He looks like he's never uttered a cruel word in his life.

Phoebe settles in a seat right beside the bed and I stand right beside her. I stuff my hands in my pockets and stare at the ceiling, waiting for Phoebe's OK to leave. It feels like forever we're just standing there but when I glace at my watch less than 15 minutes has passed.

"So you know my sister?" Benny finally breaks the silence.

"Oh, not really no. We've spoken however." I respond.

"Pain in the ass, she is?" He laughs once. "She grows on you." He adds.

"Oh yeah…" Phoebe chimes in silently, tearing her eyes from Tasha and settling them on me. I give her my undivided attention.

"Yeah?" I ask. She holds up a finger and stands from her chair and walks around to the side of the bed. She pulls a small white wordless box from under the bed and motions for me to follow her out of the hospital room. She leads me to the vending machines to the far end of the hallway and holds the box out to me.

"Here." She says contritely.

I study her as I remove it from her hand, opening it from the top it and pulling out a brand new cell phone. My brows pull together as I look at the shiny plastic that has yet to be removed from the screen. It's not my old cell phone it's the new version that doesn't come out for another 3 months.

"What—"

"I'm so, so, sorry for breaking your cell phone Blaise." She whispers quietly. "And I mean it, too. I don't usually do such cynical and haphazard things. It would mean a lot to me if you'd accept this as an apology."

"I don't feel comfortable taking this from you." I remark, placing the phone back into the box and handing it to her. She doesn't even move.

"Take it." She commands sternly, and I can hear the irritancy in her voice.

"I don't _want_ it."

"So help me Blaise, if you don't take that cell phone, I'll force you to—which will ultimately end with you having to answer it with your navel." She whispers sweetly in a menacing tone.

I can't help but laugh. "So if I don't accept your gift you'll shove it down my throat?"

She inches closer to me and stands so high on her tippy toes so that our noses are almost touching. "Guess again." She hisses, and my cock twitches in response.

"Fine." I pull the phone out of the box again and stuff it into my pocket. "Happy?"

She smiles a big, beautiful pearly smile to me and nods happily. Jesus she's gorgeous.

"What do I look like fucking up my subordinates things and not replacing them?" She mumbles innocently.

"What do you look like fucking your subordinates?" I counter, and she freezes.

"Scuse me?"

My eyebrows pull together. "Did I stutter?" I ask.

She takes a step back and places one hand on her chest as though she's just been offended. "What are you trying to say?"

I shrug. "I'm not saying that you're a saint—clearly."

"Are you calling me a whore?" She screams.

"Shhhhh!" I groant, looking every which way. "Chill out, woman!"

"Of all the ignorant, berating—"

Before I can obtain a handle on anything, my lips are crashing into her and her hands are snaking through my hair and pulling it hard—just the way I like it. She kisses the side of my face as I bite up and down her neck. I bring my lips back to her and kiss her hard, savoring every bit of the sexiness that she emits when we're like this together.

I break my mouth from hers and she moans. "You son of a bitch." She whimpers. "Why do you do this shit to me? I don't deserve it at all." My lips on hers again are my only response. When she breaks away from me again she hisses "I want you—now."

I look around and then back to her. "We're in a hospital. Do you want to fuck on the floor—?" I groan. "Because I'm totally okay with that." I kiss and suck her neck again.

"No." She breaks away from me, grabbing my hand and leading me back down the hallway and into a small, empty hospital room. When we're in, she locks the door behind us and leans against it. Both of our breathing is ragged as we stare at each other, her eyes like hot steam burning the flesh from my body.

She slowly pads over to me and pulls my polo out of my jeans and over my head, throwing it out of sight. I follow suit with her blouse, ripping it open and allowing the buttons to scatter all over the room.

"Fuck." She moans, pressing her lips on me again and rolling her tongue against mine. She unbuttons my jeans, pulling the zipper down and impatiently forcing them down my hips along with my boxers and I unconsciously kick my shoes off. She pushes me onto the bed and crouches down in front of me, immediately shoving my entire length down her throat. I hiss a breath through my teeth and my head falls back. She continues to deep throat me, occasionally flexing her throat like a fucking pro for added pleasure.

When I can't hold out any longer, I lift her up and toss her onto the bed. She squeals playfully, pulling me to rest on top of her. I kiss down her body, pushing her bra down so that her perfect tits spring free. I squeeze and bite each one of them until they're rock hard in my palms. Unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them down her thighs, I bite and lick up and down the inside of her thighs. She moans so seductively that it almost tips me over the edge. I pull her panties down and toss them aside.

When I push my fingers inside of her I lose control.

Fuck. She's drenching wet.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you all day. Please." She reaches down and lifts my face to meet hers. I can see her chest rising and falling over her bare horizon. "Blaise—" She whimpers. "I need you." She breathes.

That's all I needed to position myself on top of her and slide in. She clenches me tight like a fist at first and then loosens, exhaling profusely. When I begin to move, she digs her nails into my back, biting my shoulder to muffle her screams, and I wish I could hear every sound she makes. She wraps her legs around my hips to meet with every one of my thrusts. She feels indescribably delicious from the inside out.

I pluck her off the bed and push her back against the wall, crushing mine against hers. Our lips meet and she moans down my throat as I thrust harder into her. She pulls my hair and I squeeze her ass in my palms as her third climax melts around me again and she whimpers my name under her breath, but I'm not done yet. I don't think I'll ever be done with this woman. I can't stop when it comes to her. I don't know what self-control _is_ anymore.

I kick a short leather armchair from the wall and sit, commanding her to turn around. She does so, and immediately begins to ride me that way, using my knees for support. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against me and begin to move inside of her myself.

"—So good." She moans. "It feels so good."

I bury my face into her neck and when her nails dig into my forearm from the climax thundering over her for the fourth time, I release as well, pouring myself inside of her.

"Shhh—" I hiss between my teeth, covering her mouth with my hand to mask her squeals.

My dick pulsates inside of her for a few moments before she finally slides her still shaky body off of me. We wait for our breathing to even out before pulling our clothes on. Before she clicks the door open I stop her.

"I'm sorry." I say apologetically, shaking my head. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I think that after what just happened I can forget." She remarks dryly.

"You mean forgive?" I correct her.

She stares silently at me for a while. "No." She says in a clipped tone, and then pulls the door open but doesn't move. The door almost hits me in the face and I begin to yell at her about it but when I catch sight of why she hasn't moved my mouth is quickly sealed shut, and I feel as if a truck has hit me—I wish that a truck has hit me.

Anyone—and I mean _anyone_ could be standing outside of this door right now but it so ironically _has_ to be the _one_ person—and literally the **one and only** person in the whole world that I would want it to _not_ be.

It's Christian Grey.


	14. Dominoes

**Short Chapter. Enjoy.**

If I didn't know any better I would swear to God that in this very moment I've actually forgotten how to inhale and exhale like a fully functioning human being. Thousands of senses have been triggered all at once: I can feel my father's eyes dagger into my flesh even though his gaze is completely fixated on Blaise. I can feel my heart pounding against my ribcage and that prickly feeling running up the length of my back, clawing at me. I feel the acid in my stomach tossing and turning, pushing its way up my esophagus. I've never been so scared in my entire life—I can assure you that now. I want to run, scream and cry all at once, but instead—I'll open my mouth and say something.

"Daddy." I smile widely to my father's impassive face.

"What the hell is going on here?" He says quietly, his eyes never leaving Blaise.

I glance over my shoulder to him—his skin is the exact shade of his eyes, but he keeps a straight face.

"Mr. Severin and I were just having a quick chat—what are you doing here?" I interject quickly.

"Your mother wanted to make sure that Bennett's girlfriend was feeling OK. I tagged along." He sets his eyes on me again.

"No, Daddy—what are you doing _here_?" I emphasize the word, pointing to my feet to represent the hospital door.

He ignores my question. "When did it become necessary to step into an entirely different room to have a 'quick chat'?" He says through clenched teeth, inching towards me. I take about 5 giant steps back and when he's in the room entirely, he shuts the door behind him.

"Daddy, before you say anything—"

"How long?" He asks, flickering his eyes between Blaise and I.

"How long what?" I whimper in an ignorant tone.

"Phoebe Grace Grey, I expected better from you." He shakes his head, his eyes finding the ground.

_Holy shit—is he…ashamed of me? _

"And you—" He looks to Blaise who can't seem to get a handle of anything in life. "You had such a bright future ahead of you, son. A very bright future indeed." His eyebrows pull together as he speaks.

"Who are you tellin'?" Blaise mutters, running both hands through his messy hair. My heart drops into my stomach then, and I can feel the guilt beginning to burn holes through me. It never occurred to me for even one second—though as obvious as it was—that Blaise's career would be fucking _ruined_ if anyone ever found out about us.

"Dating your boss is not the proper way to get ahead." Dad shoves his hands into his dress pants pockets, and then looks to me with regret.

I instantly throw my hands up in defense. "We're not dating!" I shake my head, and my father looks confused.

"You're just…having sex?" Dad asks incredulously, his eyes wider than usual when he's surprised.

I nod in response, biting down hard on my lip.

"Fuck." He says simply, leaning against the door. He's quiet for what seems like hours before he finally speaks again. "Does anyone beside me know about the affair?" He asks, and I shake my head no. He stands up straight and looks to Blaise with a stony emotionless face. "I would like you to submit your resignation by tomorrow, Mr. Severin. No one will know about the two of you, and there will be no further harm done." Everything goes white after those words. I look over to him, and he's nodding to every single thing that my father says—I don't hear anything. If he feels the slightest bit of emotion about his termination, he doesn't show it.

"Thank you sir." He nods, and without another word, or even the slightest glance to me—walks out of the room. I want to say something to him—anything. But there's nothing to say because I can't deny the truth…we were wrong for doing what we did. It was unethical. I gave into my baser intent, and I let my bravado get the head of me. My father has never been so courteous in his life to anyone that wasn't his own family. He must have really liked Blaise to allow him to just walk away like that with no foul. He would have really gone places in GEH and beyond, but damn.

But I can't help thinking that I'm not so much worried about the fact that he's been fire more as the fact that he simply won't be around anymore. When will I see him again—if ever? He's a very reserved man—he's like a ghost when I think about it. I may never, ever see him.

My father's eyes stay focused on me for a little longer, and when he opens his mouth to say something I cut him off.

"I can't fathom how calm you are right now Dad." I whisper.

"In another universe—where he wasn't your subordinate—I would have liked it if you two ended up together." He confesses in a sharp tone, causing my eyes widen.

"Wha—"

"Mr. Severin is an exceptional young man, he's level-headed and smart—I would have had no problem with you two being together." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "…Just not this way. But I guess I always knew it would happen. Ever since the day I told you to fire his and you refused abruptly—I knew. I just…couldn't _say_ anything. I had to put my trust in you, and you deliberately crushed it." Tears are beginning to prick my eyes now, and I can feel my throat closing up.

I barely choke the words out. "I'm so sorry Daddy. I wasn't thinking."

"You can say that again."

"I'm so stupid." I cover my face with my hands and begin to weep. "I'm—I'm—"

When I feel my father's arms wrap around me I cry even harder.

What the hell have I done?


	15. To Be Continued

**Story will be continued in another FF in a few months.**

**til then. Byeee. (:**


	16. Sorry for the wait

**Heyyy!**

**I know you guys have waited long enough, some of you some of you not so much, but anyway!**

**My sequel to FSOP is readyyyyyy! It can be for here: s/9420579/1/Shades-Of-Phoebe-2-Recovery **

**I KNOW! OMGOMGOMG! I'm so proud of myself. Cause i'm like the laziest author evar!**

**Don't forget to review!**

**Love you guys!**


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